


Invasion

by Ttime42



Series: Invasion AU [1]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Collars, Freedom, Friendship, Gen, Gibbs is a BAMF, I have nothing against China, Leashes, OFC - Freeform, Poor Tony, Slavery, Swearing, Team as Family, Very AU, casefic, genfic, they were just convenient
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 45,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ttime42/pseuds/Ttime42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the world as we know it collapses, Gibbs & Ducky must help Tony & Abby cope with their new lives as slaves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to read an NCIS gen slavefic...but I couldn't find any, lol, so I decided to fix that. I had some criteria that I definitely wanted to include in this, namely, Tony & Abby friendship, public collaring & leashing of slaves, and good old case solving. I made up a world to go around those things and came up with what's here. This is a sandbox I might be returning to soon. I don't own the characters, just the crazy AU.
> 
> Some chapters feature slavery-related flashbacks. Nothing terribly graphic.

 

 

 

Rules and Laws in regards to slaves set forth by the government of China, pertaining to Quadrant E, vicinities 3-5, of the country formerly known as the United States.

  * _All slaves are to be collared at all times and have a visible ID tag._
  * _Slaves venturing out in public must be leashed._
  * _Everyone over age twenty is a slave until they become a free person at age forty. Those over age forty are free people and subject to the benefits of a free person._
  * _Every slave has a ten-digit serial number by which they are recognized by the state._
  * _Any discrepancies about slave ownership will be settled by the local laoban. Their word is final._



 

* * *

 

             It began when China discovered a new kind of element deep in the Yellow River. They called it Jing Manna-Chi, or ‘life-giving energy.’ From that element, scientists in Beijing figured out a way to synthesize and process it to create a clean, green, energy source that replaced fossil fuels. China exported the new material to other countries, and within a matter of months, people on every continent were clamoring for more. It burned hotter, lasted longer, and was much better for the environment than fossil fuels. The new fuel was tightly regulated and exported and China became the world’s most powerful country in a matter of years. People moved away from limited fossil fuels to embrace the seemingly endless supply of clean energy. China grew wealthier, her armies grew stronger, and she soon controlled a generous portion of the world’s economy. Many countries floundered under China’s control. Some disappeared entirely.

            When Chinese leaders discovered fertile pockets of Jing Manna-Chi in other places on the globe, they marched in, created mines to access the element, and used brutal tactics to force people from the local populations into slavery to work the mines. 

            People dubbed the riots and wars that took place to protest China’s sudden and alarming rise to power as The Fall, referring to the fall of civilization as people knew it. Thousands died. Once proud cities burned to ash. People fled and scattered when those in positions of power were unable to hold back the driving dragon force of China’s power and greed for the element.

            When the dust settled, when the Chinese leaders had the whole world on a leash firmly fisted in their palms, they built more mines. One of the most fertile areas for mining was in the Appalachian Mountain range and the surrounding area.

            As slavery became the norm, previous government organizations—England’s MI5, Japan’s NPA, and the US’s FBI, CIA, and NCIS branches—disintegrated and the states and countries were dissolved and organized into small divisions to be run by a single person, called a laoban. Washington D.C. was one of those divisions—even though now it was called Quadrant E, Vicinity 5. It was one of the more successfully run divisions, with relatively low crime and decent employment rate. A woman named Ching-Lan was the laoban and she had ten thousand people under her thumb.

            Every able-bodied, healthy citizen under the age of forty and over age twenty was deemed a slave, and their China-assigned slave serial numbers were dropped in a pool to be drawn out at random—those chosen worked the mines. It wasn’t long before people started snapping up new slaves for their own personal use, using literally any means possible to keep them docile. The idea of personal slaves caught on quickly, and those who could afford it eagerly bought slaves for themselves. The Fall was five years ago. The year is now 2003.

 


	2. A Slave

2200 hours.

            Tony DiNozzo woke, startled. He lay still, feeling the coolness of the concrete seep up through the thin silk blanket beneath him. Tony glanced around as his eyes adjusted to the dark room. The cellar was never very bright, but Nikola Bronislav, his current owner, usually kept a dim light on in the hallway upstairs. It filtered through the ajar door at the top of the cellar steps, lighting the sleeping bodies of Bronislav’s other three slaves. They were all snoring peacefully. Tony tilted his head, hearing nothing. He was just about to lie back down when he saw a shadow move across the light at the top of the steps. With a sinking heart, he recognized the shuffles of his master, heading to the kitchen as he often did in the middle of the night. He’d make his alcohol-ridden poison drink and get wasted off of it, then spend the next couple hours or so cursing everything and everyone until he passed out. He was a mean-ass drunk and the worst insomniac Tony had ever known. The guy slept as little as Abby had, back when Tony had a real job that meant something. Tony paused, an image of his happy friend flitting through his mind for a few painful seconds before fading into obscurity. His heart clenched as he tried and failed to hang onto the image. Her dark pigtails, her bright red smiling lips. He swallowed thickly. He was forgetting what his friend looked like. He had already forgotten her voice. Tony shook his head. Abby was dead to him. It had become wrenchingly obvious that his family couldn’t care less about where he was. His own blood had abandoned him to a slave’s life of torment, so why did he even think he could count on his former coworkers? He’d only been working at NCIS for two years when China exploded onto the scene. NCIS didn’t owe him anything. He thought briefly of Gibbs and Ducky and even Director Morrow before shoving the thoughts roughly out of his head. They were dead to him too.

         He pushed aside the blanket and slid his state-issued slave sandals on. Bronislav didn’t like bare slave feet dirtying up his floors. Tony had learned that the hard way. He tugged at the inch-and-a-half wide steel collar wrapped around his throat and rubbed at the red marks it left on his neck. He and the other three slaves took turns dealing with Bronislav on the nights when he’d be hitting the bottle. Tonight Tony was the lucky one. He stood and carefully stepped over the others before creeping out of the cellar.

         He headed towards the light in the kitchen and dropped to his knees in the doorway. Bronislav’s head was in the fridge, his hands rooting around in there for a late snack. He glanced up and saw Tony kneeling there, head down and hands on thighs. He regarded the slave a moment and returned to searching for food.

         “Why are you awake, 846?” He mumbled through a thick Slovakian accent.

         “I heard your footsteps and thought I could be of service.” Tony said softly. The man grunted.

         “Put a fire on.”

         “Yes, master.”

         Tony rose and walked into the den next door. Bronislav liked to hunt, and this room was tribute to various heads of deer and moose and bears that he had killed over the years. The room was large and the growling heads gave it a creepy, claustrophobic feel. Tony always thought it looked like some sort of pit of hell with all the snarling carnivorous beasts on the walls that looked like they wanted to break through the drywall and rip everyone to shreds. A huge fireplace dominated the center of the far wall. Tony had been allowed to fall asleep in front of a crackling fire on occasions when Bronislav was happy with him or off in another part of the house, drunk and yelling and breaking things, too far gone to notice Tony curled up in front of the warm fire. It was especially nice in the winter, when the concrete floor in the cellar seemed colder than a slab of ice. Though Tony was hardly the man’s favorite slave, and the treats in front of the fire were rare. When he was sober, Bronislav doted on the two women he kept as slaves, going as far as letting them eat when they pleased and allowing them to have thinner, smaller, more comfortable leather collars instead of the huge thick metal ones he and the other slave boy wore.

         Tony picked up a few logs resting in a box in the corner. He arranged the logs and lit them, coaxing the orange flames higher with bits of kindling. Pleasant heat billowed and the flickering light illuminated pointed white teeth and shiny black plastic eyes. Tony took a blanket and laid it on the back of his master’s favorite chair, just in case, before kneeling respectfully by the fire. He sighed. The heat felt good on his bare chest and back.

         He had been owned by Bronislav for about nine months, putting him just shy of having been a slave for five full years…ever since China took over after destroying the US government and economy, and well, pretty much everything else.

            Nikola Bronislav was one of Ching-Lan’s thugs. It was run like the mafia in a way. Ching-Lan played the role of the godfather and her hired men and women were the rest of the family acting as her eyes and ears. _The Godfather_. Tony smiled. That was a good movie. God, he hadn’t seen a movie in ages. None of his owners had been film buffs, unfortunately, and Tony had a laundry list ten miles long of movies he hoped to someday catch up on. There really wasn’t much else to hope for. Unless someone changed the ‘under forty’ law or he got bought by Steven Spielberg it looked like everything was pretty much staying how it was now. He was far too well broken in to try and escape again, not like during the first year. Tony shuddered. Masters tended to hate their property running away. He only had ten more years until he was free…

         The Slovak man came into the room. He glanced at the fire and then to the armchair.

         “Why is my chair so far? Move it closer to the fireplace, slave.”

         “Yes, master.” Tony rose and dragged the chair a few feet closer to the flames and knelt again near the fireplace. Bronislav grunted and sat down.

         “It’s too hot, you moron. You put too many logs on.”

         Tony dropped his forehead to the floor and spoke clearly. “I’m sorry, master.”

         “No, you’re not. Get up!”

         Tony lifted his head and stared dully into the fire.

         “You’ve always been an insolent one, 846.”

         Tony did a mental shrug. It was true.

         “Your earlier master, she did a poor job of training you. I should have 430 give you a whipping tonight.”

         Tony gulped and straightened up.

         “That’s not necessary, master.” Tony said, keeping his tone as respectful as he could manage. “I’ll work harder at keeping a civil tongue.”

         Bronislav didn’t answer as he drank his hot beverage. It had a potent, not quite unpleasant spicy menthol smell. It turned the man into a nightmare, sending him into a destructive frenzy. He stared into the depths of the cup and casually pointed at the floor beside the chair. Tony rose and went to the indicated spot beside the armrest before kneeling again. He could still feel the fire, but it wasn’t as pleasant and warm now.

         “You don’t sleep, 846?” The man muttered into his cup.

         “Not when my master needs assistance.” Tony replied. It was easy after a while, to answer like this. To tell the masters how great they were and how your life was theirs and all that crap that all owners liked to hear. He learned early to always put the needs of the master before his own, and that seemed to serve him well for the most part. His first master had drummed that notion into him thoroughly…with his fists, and his whips, and his chains. Eventually, after a year, right around the time Tony decided it would be smarter just to submit, the old bastard got sick of his disrespect and sold him to an overbearing woman with dark hair and a fondness for his ass. And when she found a younger, hotter slave at auction, Tony was sold to Bronislav.

         “Sleepy slaves are clumsy slaves.” Bronislav said. “Don’t want to repeat what happened last week, hm?” Bronislav patted him clumsily on the head in what Tony supposed was meant to be a brotherly gesture. Like they were both in here willingly, great pals recounting tales of big-game hunting. The effect was lost somewhat by the fact that he was kneeling on the carpet, half-naked and collared like the possession he was.

         “No, master.” Tony said. Being tied up outside for forty-eight solid hours in the rain was not an experience he ever needed to have again. Bronislav’s hand returned to his cup and he slurped his sanity away.

 


	3. Lost & Found

3.5 hours earlier…

         Abby Scuito placed her empty coffee mug on her nightstand and stared intently at the glowing laptop screen on her knees. Her and Ducky and Gibbs had been trying to track Tony for months and months, and it looked like they might be finally getting close.

         She adjusted the lime green skull pillow behind her back and kicked a black and red fleece blanket over her bare feet. She slid the laptop onto the bed and rubbed her eyes. It was hard to look at that thing all the time. Letting her hands fall back to the mattress, she surveyed her messy bedroom. Well, technically it was _Gibbs’_ room, since it was his house. But he was sweet enough to let her have it after he bought her at a public auction two years prior. She was his slave, so said the papers Gibbs had signed, though he treated her exactly the same as he always had at the office.

            She smiled at the familiar mess. Some of her clothes were on the floor—her plaid skirt, a few pairs of knee-high socks. Bert the hippo rested at the foot of her bed, right next to the voodoo baby with the orange paint ball splatter on its forehead. She didn’t wear belts anymore. No more decorative chains either. They reminded her of…well, they reminded her of bad things now. Things she tried to forget, things that often showed up in nightmares, even two years after Gibbs had brought her to his home to this life of peace and happiness so unlike what she and countless other slaves experienced. China had conquered the world five years ago looking for their stupid fuel, and Abby was perfectly content to forget the first three years of her unpleasant slavery under hands that were often cruel. Abby took a deep breath. She would never have a bad master again. Not if Gibbs could help it. And now it was Tony’s turn.

            She flicked her eyes back to the laptop’s screensaver and bit her lip. The usual questions sprang into her mind as they had been doing everyday since Gibbs brought her home. Where was Tony? Was he okay? Was he being treated alright? Would they ever, she gulped, see him again? He might not have even survived the awful riots that took place after…Abby’s eyes moistened. So many had died in those first few weeks after China took over _everything_ for their stupid mines for their stupid element.

            “Positive thoughts, Abby.” She told herself firmly. “He’s alive. We’d know it if he wasn’t.”

            She pulled the warm computer onto her lap again and her fingers flew over the keys.

            Hacking into China’s slave database was tricky work—and she wasn’t much of a hacker. Plus, if she—a slave—got caught hacking into China’s database, things could get _really_ ugly. No doubt she’d be taken away from Gibbs and sold back into the public market. She shuddered. Nothing but horrors waited for her there. It was foolhardy and idiotic for _any_ one to trygetting into the system. Abby cracked her knuckles and set to work.

           She nudged through some firewalls and made it onto a different server, just to cover her tracks. She typed Tony’s serial number into the database and waited. It had been surprisingly easy to get his number. All slaves had a serial number for tracking purposes, and she had simply Googled his name and found the ten-digit code after a short search. Finding a slave’s number was easy, but finding out who actually _owned_ them…that was the impossible part. Some people paid lots of money to stay out of the system.

            She had already cobbled together a rudimentary virus that would ideally find Tony’s number and tell her where he was and who owned him. One problem was that there were very few open ports on the Chinese systems. One had opened some six months ago, but it had disappeared before she could do anything with it. She checked every single day, but there was nothing. Also, that everything was in Chinese and she barely spoke two words didn’t help.

             The computer emitted a _ping_ and Abby blinked at the screen and the little flashing window. She gasped. A port was actually open. Quickly, she pulled up her virus program and sent it through the port, then chewed her purple-lacquered fingernails.

            She twirled a pigtail as the machine scanned through hundreds of names. She really hoped she wasn’t being tracked. Her heart pounded as a blur of slave photos flew across the screen. When the computer _ping_ ed again, she gasped. There it was. There was a picture of Tony and a ton of info written in Chinese. She stared at her friend and grinned. It looked like his driver’s license photo. Something taken before being a slave.

            “Oh Tony, I really hope you’re okay…”She downloaded the file and got the hell outta the system. Typing again, she brought up a translation program and ran Tony’s Chinese file. The translation was shoddy, but she found what she needed.

            “Nikola Bronislav.” She mumbled. Tony had been living there as recently as this past year. That meant there was an excellent chance he was still alive. Tears dripped down her face as she flipped open her cell and speed dialed Gibbs with shaking fingers.

            

* * *

           Gibbs had never liked waiting.

           Waiting for a suspect to break in interrogation. Waiting for Abby’s lab results. Waiting in line at the hardware shop with an armful of two by fours. Gibbs sighed and adjusted the lumber under his arm. There was an argument at the register. Apparently this guy was trying to return a length of rope that he had bought for his slave that he now decided was too long. Said slave was kneeling on the floor by his master’s feet, hands clasped behind his back. He couldn’t have been older than thirty. His greenish eyes were cast down at the floor and Gibbs felt a little pang in his chest. He was about Tony’s age. The spiky hair and gold-flecked emerald eyes. Gibbs looked away, feeling a deep guilty ache in his gut. They should have found him by now. Abby was searching for him like it was her job and still they were making almost no headway. He couldn’t help but feel that they weren’t searching hard enough or deep enough. If they were they would have him by now. Or at least have heard of his death.

            The irate slave owner had one end of a heavy, chain leash attached to his own belt loop as he yelled at the cashier and yelled at his slave.

            Gibbs rolled his eyes. God he hated slavery. Hated everything about the idea of owning another human and buying one the same way he was buying this lumber (which he’d love to do if the line ever decided to move). He was ready to give the man the argument-causing two dollars out of his own pocket if meant he would leave.

            Finally a manager was called over and the guy ended up getting store credit or something. With a huff, he yanked the leash, making the slave stumble to his feet and trot after his fuming master. No one gave them a second glance. Three other people in the five-person line had slaves kneeling, collared and leashed, at their feet. The sight was as common these days as clouds in the sky. Gibbs put his wood down on the counter and the cashier rang it up. He saw the bright purple collar and green tag at her throat. The collar meant she was a slave, and the green chip on her collar meant she could have this job. No wonder the customer had gotten so annoyed with her—no one cared if slaves were yelled at and called names. Gibbs paid and gave her a smile before walking back to his car.

            It was a warm June evening, with the sun just starting to set, turning the sky orange and lavender. Gibbs popped the back door of his truck and dropped the wood inside. His phone rang the moment he slammed the thing closed.

            “Yeah. Gibbs.”

            _“Gibbs! Gibbs! Gibbs! Oh my God…Oh my God—.”_

            “Abby.” Gibbs said slowly. “Breathe.”

            He heard her take a deep breath.

           “Okay, what’s going on? Are you hurt? Is Ducky hurt?”

_“No! Gibbs—we found him! I think.”_

           All the blood in Gibbs’ body seemed to freeze and slowly shift in the opposite direction.

_“Gibbs?”_ Abby’s voice was concerned and amused.

           “Yeah.” His voice cracked just a bit. “Abbs, is it really him?”

_“I’m like eighty-nine percent sure.”_

            “Is he…?” Gibbs wanted to say hurt, healthy, fine, normal, injured. Hell, alive even.

_“Well, we don’t actually have him quite yet.”_

           “Where is he?” Gibbs threw open the truck’s door and slid into the driver’s seat, cranking the engine.

_“Gibbs, don’t do anything stupid—.”_

            “Abby, I’ve been looking for him for five years. We’ve come _this close_ I don’t know how many times! I am not going to let him slip through our fingers again.”

             Abby quickly gave him an address and sent the GPS coordinates to his phone. Just like old times. Gibbs looked at the display and rolled his eyes. Of course, one of Ching-Lan’s men.

            There was a beat.

           “Seriously, Abs?”

_“Yup.”_ Abby said. _“Like I said—don’t do anything stupid.”_

           Gibbs gunned it to the address. This particular henchman’s coordinates were almost near the West Virginia border. Gibbs didn’t even feel the four hour drive as he flew along the highway towards his target. He was focused, and when Gibbs focused on getting something, absolutely nothing would get in his way. The tires skidded in the gravel of the three story bungalow at 2300 and he pounded on the keypad outside the gated house. A clear female voice asked who it was.

           “I’ve come to get what’s mine.” Gibbs hissed.

_“Sir?”_

            “Tell Nikola that Ching-Lan sent me.”

            In hindsight, that wasn’t the smartest thing to say, but Gibbs was way beyond that point by now.

             There was a long pause, and then the gate slowly creaked open. Gibbs floored it up the driveway and jumped out of the car. He peered up the concrete staircase leading up to front door. The house was more like a huge cabin. Some windows were illuminated with warm cheery light. Gibbs growled. Tony was in there somewhere. He stomped up to the front door and pounded his fist into it. He almost yelled ‘Federal Agent,’ before he remembered that those words had no power anymore. He suspected he’d be making that mental correction until the day he died. Which very well could be tonight. A topless slave girl slowly pulled open the door.

             “Your master in?” Gibbs growled.

             “Um, please come in sir.”

             Gibbs stormed into the round foyer, glancing around everywhere for Tony as if the man would be expecting his arrival. There was no one but the frightened girl and a stuffed bear head over the door that was snarling silently at them both.

             “Tony!” Gibbs bellowed. There were some sounds of bewilderment coming from deeper in the house, but Gibbs ignored them. “DiNozzo!”

 

* * *

 

 

             Tony’s back was to the roaring fire, his knees bent and his hands up in a defensive position. His face was throbbing from where the old drunk had already landed an alcohol-induced punch. Bronislav was stalking around the room, hollering in Slovak. Tony had no idea what he was saying, but he sounded mad. The man turned and blinked at Tony through eyes filled with red. He roared and lunged towards his slave. Tony skittered to the side, safely away from the fire. If he left the room, the man would come after him and possibly his slave companions tucked away in the basement—luckily forgotten for the moment.

               Bronislav twisted and grabbed Tony by the hair. Tony yelped and kicked the man in the shin. A furious roar escaped Bronislav’s mouth and he released Tony’s hair.

              “Slave scum!” He managed, rubbing his leg. He barreled after Tony and the younger man easily stepped aside. “I’m gonna whip you stupid—”

              “DiNozzo!”

              They both froze at the new voice in the foyer.

             “Boss?” Tony turned towards the door, blinking. Had he imagined that, or did someone who sounded just like Gibbs—

              “Ow!” Bronislav wrapped a hand around his steel collar and wrenched him around, lashing his bare back with a cane. “Master!” He yelled. He writhed as another lash cracked across his skin. “Lemme go!” Tony turned around and threw himself behind Bronislav, forcing the man’s arm into an awkward angle. The big man let go, cursing again at Tony.

             The door flew open with a loud _bang_ and when Tony looked up, a very pissed off Gibbs was advancing on Bronislav.

             “Who are you?!” The man slurred.

             “Don’t you ever touch him again.” Gibbs growled, looking angrier than Tony had ever seen. “He’s mine.” His face was craggy and fierce in the flickering firelight, the orange warmth making his blue eyes icy and focused.

               “Get out of my house!” Bronislav came towards Gibbs, cane raised. Gibbs calmly stepped forward, kneed him hard in the gut and tore the cane from his hand. Bronislav howled and fell to the floor clutching his belly. Gibbs flung the weapon in to the fire and turned to see Tony staring down at the big man, breathing hard. Gibbs blinked, barely recognizing his former senior agent. His brunette hair was longer than he’d ever seen, swept back off his face to hang behind his ears. His right eye was shiny with bruises and his jaw was turning a dull shade of purple under the few day’s worth of stubble. His body was leaner and thinner than it had been when he worked at NCIS and Gibbs could see ribs. His eyes were wild and focused on Bronislav, moaning on the floor.

            “Hey DiNozzo.” Gibbs said in a neutral tone.

             Tony turned to him, eyes wide.

             “Remember me?” Gibbs ventured when Tony didn’t speak.

              “S-sure, boss.” He stared at Gibbs with absolutely no recognition and Gibbs was suddenly worried that Tony might have had some sort of memory lapse or brain trauma. Who knew what could have happened in five years? Bronislav groaned again.

             “Wanna go home?” Gibbs said.

             “Home?” Tony’s voice thickened a little and Gibbs stepped towards him. Tony instantly stepped back and Gibbs froze, not expecting that reaction. He frowned at the pair of ratty shorts Tony was wearing, and the crappy sandals. He growled at the tarnished metal collar ringing his friend’s neck, hating the sight of it.

           “Yeah. Home, DiNozzo. We’ve got a room for you. Abby’s got some of your stuff.”

           “A-Abby? She’s a slave too?” Tony blurted, his eyes wide and scared.

           “She lives with me and Duck.” Gibbs answered. “C’mon.” Gibbs said to Tony’s slightly dazed look. “We gotta go—.”

           “Who are you!?” Another man—a bodyguard—appeared in the doorway. “Nikola?” The guy ran towards his fallen boss. He surveyed the groaning man with a bloody nose and aching gut and when he turned around, he was alone in the room.

 


	4. The Secret Police

         Gibbs pulled into his driveway at 0415. He shut off the engine and simply sat a moment. He hadn’t been followed. Clearly, to that drunken asshole, Tony wasn’t worth hauling out the heavy artillery. Good. Gibbs groaned as sleep caught up with him. His head lolled back on the headrest and he shut his eyes, frankly not caring if he fell asleep right here. He sat a moment, then glanced up when he felt a pair of hazel eyes studying his face.

         “Alright, Tony?” He asked, still not sure if his friend was all there.

         “As well as I can be after a drunken brawl with Bronislav, sir. I feel like Joe Frazier after a round against Ali.”

         Yep, he was all there.

         “Let’s go inside.” Gibbs yawned and pushed open his door. He got halfway up the walk when he realized he was alone. With a sigh, he went back to the car and pulled open Tony’s door. The younger man was staring at his knees, his hands in his lap. The quietness about him weirded Gibbs out.

         “Tony?”

         He looked up at Gibbs, then looked away. A flush tinted his cheeks.

         “I can’t.” He said in a small voice.

         “Can’t…?”

         Tony reached up and felt his collar, tugging at it. “I need a leash if I’m going to be outside, sir.” Tony admitted. “My master doesn’t like it if I’m outside without it.”

            Sir? Gibbs frowned at the honorific even as anger bubbled in his gut at the fear Tony had of simply getting out of the car. What kinds of assholes had he lived with these past few years? Gibbs thought about just encouraging him to walk on his own, but decided it was far too late at night, or early in the morning, for an argument that would just increase Tony’s discomfort.

         “Hang on.” Gibbs went inside, grabbed Abby’s red nylon leash from the pegboard by the stairs, and returned to the truck. He clipped it to the small padlock fastening the big metal collar around Tony’s neck, scowling at it. His hatred for Bronislav intensified.

         Tony got out of the car, crossing his arms self-consciously.

         “I’m sorry, sir.” He mumbled.

         “Don’t be, Tony.” Gibbs told him. “You don’t have to be sorry for anything.”

            Abby had been like this too, when he’d first found her. Awkward, nervous, apologizing for everything and anything and calling him ‘master’ and ‘sir.’ It was painful seeing the people he called his friends forced to be so submissive, their natural bubbly personalities stamped down and deflated. With lots of time and patience, Tony’s damage would heal like Abby’s had.

           Gibbs locked the door once they were inside, throwing the two deadbolts and the chain. It was wise to keep the doors locked tight these days, despite his earlier habits.

          Tony looked around, his eyes flicking everywhere in the dim entryway.

          “You remember my house?” Gibbs asked.

          “Yeah, Gibbs. Hasn’t changed. Still got that retro 70’s thing going.” Tony glanced down and saw a plain black pair of Abby’s work shoes. “You didn’t get married again, did you?” His eyes immediately widened and he dropped to his knees.

           “I’m sorry, master—I just—I didn’t think—”

           Gibbs, surprised at his sudden subservience, immediately hauled him back to his feet.

           “Tony, it’s fine. You can make jokes. You don’t have to call me ‘sir’ or anything.”

            Tony nodded quickly. “Yes, boss. I just…” he trailed off, staring at the floor and wringing his hands.

          “Gibbs?” Abby appeared from around the corner in her pajamas—black skull-printed sweatpants and a matching fitted Tshirt. Her black hair hung loose over her shoulders and without the black lipstick her face seemed oddly pale. She looked at Gibbs with worried eyes but smiled warmly when she saw Tony, despite his wounded and different appearance.

         “Tony!” She threw her arms around him in a hug. “I missed you like crazy!” She said. She felt the ridges of scars under his shirt and closed her eyes, hugging him even closer.

            “Abbs.” He breathed shakily into her clean, shampoo-scented hair, hardly able to believe it was her. “I missed you too.” He whispered. He eyed Gibbs, smiling warmly at their reunion. Tony gulped and clenched his eyes shut, tightening his arms around Abby as a sudden memory popped into his head…

_“You stupid whore!” Tony’s first master, Carmichael Sutton, bellowed at his wife’s slave, Rachel. “How hard is it to cook something properly?”_

_Tony dropped his broom and walked into the kitchen. Rachel glanced at him, clearly scared by Sutton’s anger. Tony glanced down at the offending burned steak._

_“Relax.” Tony said to him. “She can make you another one.”_

_Sutton threw down his knife and fork. He stood up and glared at Tony. Tony lifted his chin. Sutton was a huge guy. Tony knew the man could knock him unconscious with one swipe of his paw. He didn’t care though. Slave or not, nothing gave anyone the right to refer to someone as ‘stupid whore.’_

_“Still don’t know your place, boy?” Sutton drawled. He reached over and snatched Rachel’s arm. He tore the spatula out of her hand and started beating the hell out of her with it. She shrieked and raised her arms to cover her head._

_“Stop!” Tony yelped._

_“You’ll shut up if you know what’s good for you!” Sutton yelled. He continued hitting Rachel. Tony stepped forward. “One more step and I get my whip to use on her_ and _you.” Sutton said. Tony froze. “Good boy. We’ll have you broken yet.” He threw the spatula aside and started beating her with his hand, leaving Tony scared and angry as he helplessly watched his fellow slave get beaten on…_

           “I missed you more than Pee-Wee missed his bike.” Abby mumbled, oblivious to what was going on inside his head.

           Tony let out a bark of laughter at the unexpected movie reference, forcing the memory away.

           “You okay?” She asked.

          “No. Are you owned too?” He said softly.

         “Technically, yeah. By Gibbs.”

           Tony stiffened.

          “Don’t worry though.” She said quickly. “He and Ducky are great masters.” She cast Gibbs a little grin and he rolled his eyes.

          “Ducky…?” Tony said, looking confused.

          “I’d like him to look you over Tony.” Gibbs eyed his former agent’s skinny frame under the black Tshirt he had given him in the car. Tony was practically swimming in the fabric. “We can start getting you healthy again tonight.”

          “Yes, sir.” Tony said.

          Gibbs nodded and headed for the doctor’s room.

          “Oh Tony!” Abby threw her arms around him again and Tony grunted as Bronislav’s cane marks stung in protest. “We didn’t know where you were for so long or if you were okay or if anyone was hurting you and we were all _so worried_ and we looked and looked for _ages…_ ”

           Tony brought his hands up and returned the hug out of reflex. Abby’s hugs felt like home and Christmas and birthdays all in one.

          “You looked for me?” He said.

           “Of course! We never stopped looking. We knew you were out there somewhere. After those riots…we didn’t know…but now you’re here and safe and we love you and I’m never going to stop hugging you.”

            “That might be a problem.” Tony said.

           “Why?”

           “Going to the bathroom is going to be awkward.”

           Abby pulled off him and gave him a look that said, ‘smartass.’

           He grinned a little.

           “I missed that gorgeous smile.” Abby said. She gently touched a finger to the bruise on his jaw.

           “Gibbs is your master?” He asked.

           “On paper, yeah.” She said, a hint of sadness in her voice. “Legally he owns me.”

           “Wow, Gibbs literally owning your ass?” Tony’s eyes widened in mock shock and Abby smiled.

            “He can get your paperwork settled,” Abby said, “and then you can live here with us and it’ll be just like old times at the office. Kinda. We kind of still solve cases, well, we help families find their family members who might be slaves now. Gibbs has even helped Ching-Lan’s relatives out with some stuff! She kind of knows us, which is both good and bad…”

            Tony smiled at her, pulling her into another hug, something deep and wound tight with dark unhappiness within him unraveling at the sound of his best friend’s voice. 

 

* * *

 

             Gibbs went down the hall to Ducky’s den-converted bedroom. When Gibbs insisted that Ducky permanently move in after The Fall, Ducky had insisted right back that he take a downstairs room.

_“After all, Jethro, I’m getting older and one day the stairs will just be too much. If I take this room now, it will save us the hassle of moving me later.”_

             Gibbs agreed, just wanting to keep his friends close. Doctors were something of a commodity now and many of them had been sent around the country to wherever China deemed them necessary. Ducky was one of the lucky ones in that he got to stay in his hometown. Jack was still in Pennsylvania, or vicinity 6 as it was known today, his store unharmed and himself in no danger of being enslaved. He was well past the age limit.

_“Business is booming, Leroy. Not many general stores in rural Pennsylvania sell gennys and gasoline shelved beside soup and diapers. Don’t you worry about me.”_

             Gibbs did, sometimes. But he also knew his father could take care of himself. That Winchester still worked like new.

             Gibbs’ fist was up, poised to knock, when the door was tugged open. Ducky stood there in soft slippers and a thick flannel robe, wide awake despite the hour.

             “Did you get him?” He asked.

             “Got him.”

            “How is he?” Ducky said.

            “Hurting. Scared. He’s with Abby now. Can you look him over, Duck?”

            “Of course. I would insist upon it.”

             “He’s got some bruises.” Gibbs said, rubbing a tired hand over his face. “Jaw and eye.” Gibbs’ voice hardened. “His back too. That bastard was whipping him when I got there.”

            “Oh, Anthony.”

           “It’s weird, Duck. He remembers me, I think, but he’s so…different.”

           “Remember how Abby was when you brought her home?” Ducky reminded him.

           “Yeah.” Gibbs said, suddenly feeling very tired.

           “She came around and now she’s back to her old self. The same thing will happen with Tony.”

            Gibbs just nodded, hoping the doctor was right.

 

* * *

 

              Tony heard Gibbs clear his throat behind them and he whirled out of Abby’s hug. A quick flash of Rachel’s bruised face jumped into his brain and Tony growled and pulled Abby behind him protectively, glaring at Gibbs. A teeny tiny little rational voice in his head reminded him that Gibbs wasn’t Sutton and that he wouldn’t do anything of the sort to Abby or him or anyone. His more recent, harsher memories won out though, and his hands curled into fists. He stared at Gibbs out of cold eyes unafraid of pain, his jaw set, his whole body daring Gibbs to come closer.

              “Tony!” Abby yelped. “It’s fine—“ She lowered her voice. “Gibbs is a friend. Don’t worry. He’s not going to hurt either of us.”

              “C’mon, Tony.” Gibbs said in a gentle voice. He didn’t know where on earth this was coming from, but he decided it would be wise to not get any closer. He continued speaking in a low tone. “Ducky’s ready for you.”

               Tony looked suspicious.

             “He’s gonna check you over, okay? Really quickly. Give you something for your back and bruises.”

             “Go on, Tony.” Abby urged. Abby’s voice seemed to break whatever hold was on Tony’s brain.

              He nodded. His head hung in defeat and Gibbs’ heart ached as the wide, protective stance faded away, leaving the meek slave DiNozzo he had met in the car. Tony gave Abby one final, pained glance before reluctantly walking towards his former boss.

              “Do you want me there?” She blurted.

              “Go on.” Gibbs said. He stepped back, giving Tony space. “If you want her to be in there with you Tony, go ahead.”

              Tony nodded and Abby took him by the hand, trotting towards Ducky’s room. She threw Gibbs a confused look.

               ‘What was that?’ she mouthed.

               Gibbs shrugged. This was going to be a long road to recovery.

 

* * *

 

            “Anthony, my dear boy!” 

            Tony edged into the unfamiliar master’s bedroom, nervously returning the smile he was being given.

            “Hey, Ducky.”

            “It’s been ages, lad. Here, please sit.” Ducky pulled over an armchair and Tony sat gingerly on the edge, unused to sitting in chairs. But, a master had commanded it, so he’d better obey. Tony glanced around the small space. Ducky’s bedroom was cozy and classy, filled with antique furniture and a cherry wood four poster bed. Lots of thick books sat on a shelf and a small TV rested in one corner beside a mug of tea. The art belied the doctor’s eccentric tastes and Tony stared at an abstract sculpture that vaguely resembled a human body as Ducky gathered some things, talking all the while.

             “…searched for you every way possible. Gibbs even made a _Magnum P.I_ reference, which you would definitely appreciate…”

             Abby crept in and knelt beside Tony on the floor. She took his hand and he turned his attention to her, grinning at his best friend.

             “This will be quick, Anthony. Just a once-over, and then you can go to bed and tomorrow we’ll get you settled straight away. Ah, good morning, Abby.”

             “Hi Ducky.” 

              “Tony, can you take your shirt off, please?”

              Tony let go of Abby’s hand and threw the black Tshirt to the floor. He slid his hand back into Abby’s.

              “Let’s see…” Ducky moved behind Tony, pausing at the faint scars and the fresh red lines across his shoulders. “A few marks.” Ducky observed. He glanced up, noticing Gibbs hovering just outside the open door, tensely keeping his distance. He nodded for Gibbs to enter, but the older man stayed put.

             “Not too bad, my boy.” Ducky said. “I can put some cream on these scrapes. Do they hurt?”

              “A little, sir.” Tony said.

            “Here.” Ducky handed him a white pill. “For the pain.”

             Tony nodded and obediently gulped the pill.

             Ducky cleaned the cane wounds and rubbed them with cream before giving the younger man an ice pack to dull the spread of the fresh bruising on his face.

             “Alright, lad.” Ducky said in a gentle voice. “We’re done for now. I’d like to do some bloodwork and give you a physical, but that can wait until you’re a bit more rested, hm?”

             “Yes, sir.” Tony said.

             “C’mon, Tony.” Abby stood up, still holding his calloused hand. “I’ll take you to your room. We’ve got it totally ready for you. I found these sheets at the store that are the softest thing…”

               Gibbs wandered into the kitchen to give them space. He watched Abby lead his former agent up the stairs and down the short hall towards the bedrooms. Ducky joined him, placing his mug in the sink.

               “Well?” Gibbs said.

               “He’ll be alright, Jethro, bruised and battered that he is.”

               “He’s scared of me.” Gibbs said bluntly.

                “He’s a bit nervous of all of us—”

                “In the hall,” Gibbs interrupted. “Thought he was gonna punch my lights out.” Gibbs glanced at Ducky, smirking grimly. “He pulled Abby behind him—protecting her like I was gonna hurt her.” Ducky sighed at the guilt and pain in Gibbs’ voice.

                 “He sees you as a threat. A master and a threat.” Ducky observed. “Slavery has not been kind to him, Jethro. There’s old scarring on his back, delivered with a whip or cane or worse. He’s underweight, possibly anemic. And that’s just the physical damage. We have no idea what he’s seen or endured.”

                Gibbs nodded, understanding but hating it all the same that Tony was seeing him as one of the bastards who mistreated him.

              “Good thing Abby’s here.” Gibbs said, watching the dark staircase. “He seems to trust her more than anyone right now.”

 

* * *

 

              “Here’s your room.” Abby said. She pulled Tony into the third bedroom and flipped the light. “You’ve got a double bed and the biggest closet—Gibbs made that dresser!” She pointed at a gorgeous oak set of drawers, the woody scent spicing the air. Tony didn’t say anything, but his eyes flitted around the sparse bedroom. Abby, not liking his silence, persevered. “You could put some more shelves up for your movies.” She said. “That whole wall is free—we kinda left it that way on purpose, figuring you’d want to put movies there or girlie posters up.” This got a faint smile. “The window is nice and big and looks over the front. You could spy on the neighbors like in that one Hitchcock movie with what’s his name…”

           “ _Rear Window._ One of Jimmy Stewart’s finest.” Tony said. “I’d rather do it without the broken leg though.”

           Abby smiled, glad to be seeing some hint of the old DiNozzo.

           “He’s good to me, you know.” She said to Tony. “Gibbs. I mean, c’mon, it’s _Gibbs_.” She slid her hand into his. “You know he’d never hurt me—or anyone. Well, maybe a dirtbag, but no one who doesn’t deserve it.”

            Tony wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. “I used to know, Abby.”

             She nodded, letting that demon lie for now.

            “Do you want to sleep?”

            “In here?”

           “Yeah. It’s your room.”

           Tony pursed his lips, looking around the room with trepidation. He hadn’t slept alone in a room, or in a bed, since The Fall.

           “You can sleep in my room if you need to.” Abby said.

           “Can I?” Tony said.

           “C’mon.” Abby brought him to her room and Tony froze in the doorway. Tony stared around at the clothes and boots on the floor, Bert on the dresser, and assorted zombie dolls blocking the door to the closet. He tried not to let the sight of his friend’s casually lived-in bedroom feel so surreal, but he was too tired to fight down much of anything.

           “Wait—Gibbs’ll get mad—male and female slaves aren’t supposed to sleep in the same quarters—”

           “He won’t care.” Abby assured him.

           Tony dropped to the carpet and stretched out, not even looking at the bed. He knew it would be too soft to sleep in. Abby didn’t question his choice of bed or even glance twice. She dragged the sheet and blanket to the floor, then tossed the red and black fleece and the skull pillow down as well.

           “Wait here.”

            He nodded, eyes half-closed. She went into the other bedroom—his room—and grabbed the blankets off that bed too. She knew. She knew what it was to be forced to sleep on the floor and hate it, then to accept it, then to prefer it. She eyed the closet, remembering the bag of his stuff that she had dropped in there. Later he could look at his things when he wasn’t so skittish and tired.

             “Here you go.” She settled down beside him on the floor, nesting them both in the softness.

            “Thanks Abbs.” He stuffed a pillow under his head and pulled her close, obviously wanting to protect her even in sleep. They stared at each for a while, Tony re-remembering every curve and pore on her face. He squeezed her hand under the blanket.

           “How are you?” She asked quietly.

            Tony shrugged. “Fine. Warm. Comfortable.”

           “No, how are _you,_ Tony? In here.” She brushed her fingertips over his chest.

            He didn’t answer, but he squeezed her hand again.

          “I thought you were dead.” He said quietly.

          “Why?” Abby said after a beat.

           “Only way I could cope.” He said. His eyes dropped to her neck.

           “You don’t have a collar.” He changed the subject.

           Abby rolled over and reached into a half-open drawer in her nightstand. She pulled out a black leather and silver spiked collar and handed it to Tony.

            He ran his fingers over soft collar. The faint hallway light reflected off the shiny spikes. Tony rubbed his thumb over a small metal nameplate fastened to the flat of the leather. Gibbs’ name and phone number were engraved there.

            “How come you’re not wearing this? Does Gibbs not want you to wear it at night?” Tony asked.

            “Gibbs doesn’t make me wear it.”

            “Oh.” Tony frowned. “But he’s your master.” He’d never come across a master who didn’t insist on collars being worn at all times. He’d had this damn piece of dented metal around his neck for almost a year.

           “He’s my friend before he’s my master.” Abby said, gently taking the collar from him.

           “Does Ducky make you wear it?” Tony asked.

           “No. Ducky’s a friend too.”

            “Friends don’t make friends wear collars?” Tony said, the tiniest spark of mischief in his eyes.

            Abby smiled, “yeah.”

           “Hey, is Gibbs gonna be mad?”

           “About what?”

            “Us sleeping so close like this.” He didn’t make an innuendo, or even raise his brows at her seductively like he may have once upon a time.

            “No, he won’t care. We can sleep wherever we want. Eat whatever.” She rubbed her thumb over his palm. “Living here is as good as being free again, Tony. Remember what that was like?”

           Tony pulled her forward suddenly, hugging her hard. He buried his face in her shoulder and Abby squeezed him, minding his back.

           “It’s okay.” She soothed as he breathed into her neck. “You’ll be okay. Promise.”

 

* * *

 

             Gibbs wasn’t at all surprised to answer the door at 0800 later that morning to two members of Ching-Lan’s secret police force. One man was dark skinned, and looked at Gibbs like he was something he had stepped in. Black BDU’s accented with red covered his muscular body. Cuffs and a very large gun were strapped to his hip. Beside him, a white woman with shoulder length frizzy red hair looked coolly at Gibbs. Gibbs got the vibe that she hadn’t been one of Ching-Lan’s cops for very long. Her hips were also stacked with cuffs and an identical large gun. A glittering armband depicting a black and red orchid intertwined with a serpent was wrapped around each of their biceps—Ching-Lan’s logo. The dark skinned cop pulled off a pair of mirrored sunglasses and stared at Gibbs.

            “Hello, Officer Sacks.” Gibbs said pleasantly.

             “Gibbs.” He said, glancing behind the older man into his house. He nodded to the redhead. “My new partner, Officer Viv Blackadder. The woman nodded and Gibbs nodded back. “You gotta give him back.” Sacks said.

              “No.”

              Sacks let out a little huff of air, as if there were better things he could be doing than retrieving a lost slave. “Mind if we come in?”

               Gibbs did mind, but he stepped aside. It was extreme politeness on their part that they even asked permission. Long gone were the days when a search warrant was needed to enter someone’s home and take whatever you pleased.

              “How’s your sister?” Gibbs asked him.

               “Better since you and Doctor Mallard found my niece.” Sacks told him. “Don’t think that’s getting you out of giving back that slave you stole.” Sacks waited a beat. “Bronislav wants Delta-846-592821 back.”

              “His _name_ is Tony DiNozzo.” Gibbs growled.

              “Whatever his name is, Bronislav is pissed.” Sacks said coolly.

              “Too bad.”

              “Gibbs.”

              “He’s not getting him back.” Gibbs said. Sacks sighed and looked at Blackadder.

              “Cuff him.”

              She got out a pair of cuffs and clipped them gently, almost hesitantly around Gibbs’ wrists. Sacks went into the depths of the house, intent on finding DiNozzo.

               “We’ll come peacefully.” Gibbs said in a clear voice. Sacks stopped advancing and looked back at him. “I swear I won’t run. Let me loose and I’ll get the slave.” No good would come from his being arrested. He’d lose Tony for sure. And maybe even Abby.

             Sacks stared at him a moment, then sighed and nodded to his partner. The cuffs were released and Gibbs shot up the stairs and into Abby’s room.

              “Gibbs, what’s going on?” Abby clutched her blanket as Tony stirred beside her on the floor. Gibbs smiled a bit at the sight of them together, finally. His family was back in one piece after five years of fear and unknowing. Like hell he was going to let some whiny underling of Ching-Lan’s take his family away.

              “Cops.” Gibbs told her. “Don’t worry.” He bent down and shook the former agent. “Tony…”

            “Hm? Boss!” Tony rolled up to his knees.

            “Come on, we’re gonna take a ride.” Gibbs helped Tony to his feet, pushing aside the ache he felt when Tony tensed at his touch. “Abbs,” Gibbs said, “I need your help on this one.”

               “Ching-Lan?” She whispered.

              “Yeah. You know how she likes her guests to show off their slaves.”

             “That Bronislav guy wants Tony back?” Abby said in a small voice. Tony turned fearful eyes on Gibbs and stepped back.

             Abby jumped up to quickly change her clothes and Gibbs turned to Tony. He gripped his agent tightly by the shoulders and winced when Tony flinched and looked away. “He’s not gonna get you back, Tony. Understand?”

              Tony didn’t speak and Gibbs shook his head. “I’m going to talk to Ching-Lan. You won’t go back to Bronislav.” He squeezed his shoulders. “Alright?”

              Tony nodded mutely, not looking reassured at all.

               Abby threw on her schoolgirl skirt, followed by a black shirt with a pink skull and crossbones. She popped a piece of gum in her mouth, as there was no time for brushing teeth. She buckled the black spiked collar around her neck, and Tony’s mouth fell as he saw it in the daylight. Beside the nameplate were two plain, smooth pieces of plastic, one yellow and one bright green. Tony eyed the colored chips enviously.

               The yellow tag was sent out by the Chinese government and given to slaves who had a clean criminal record. It proclaimed to anyone who looked at your collar that you hadn’t been convicted of a crime since the US fell. The green one though, that could only be given by a slave’s owner. Everyone knew that slaves wearing green tags were treated well by their masters. They were allowed jobs and sometimes treated nearly as citizens. Sometimes. Those slaves could even live away from their master’s house if the master chose. A slave had to be legally owned by their master for at least eighteen months before they could be given a green tag. They were rare, and not many slaves that Tony had ever seen had ever gotten one. He had never been lucky enough to wear either tag on his collars.

              “Gibbs, have I displeased you?” Tony looked away from her collar and stared at the floor again.

              “You did nothing wrong Tony.” Gibbs said, crouching in front of him. “I’m _not_ getting rid of you. Let’s go.”

              Too well disciplined to disobey, Tony followed Gibbs down the steps, reassured a little by Abby’s presence. He stiffened at the sight of the cops. Abby grabbed her red leash from the pegboard and fastened it to her collar.

              The cops exchanged a look and nodded. Blackadder reached out and grabbed Tony’s forearm, while Sacks roughly threw a chain around Tony’s neck and padlocked it.

               Tony tensed, cowering as Blackadder slapped the cuffs harshly around his wrists.

              “I’m coming with.” Gibbs barked. “I want to contest it.”

               “You already admitted you stole him.” Sacks said. “What’s there to contest?”

               “I want to speak to Ching-Lan.”

               “No way.”

               “I wasn’t _asking_ , Officer Sacks.” Gibbs growled.

                Sacks stared at him. Gibbs stared back and Sacks backed down.

                “Fine.” He put his hands up in defeat. “But if she takes both your slaves because you pissed her off, that’s your problem.”

                 A leather lead was fastened to the impromptu collar, and Tony was tied tightly to a hook in the back of the black police Hummer by both the leash and cuffs. Abby was put next to him, restrained only by her leash. The cops stared at Gibbs oddly when he climbed into the back, sitting on the thinly carpeted floor right between them instead of sitting in the comfortable seats, but they shut the doors with a shrug and drove off.

                “Tony, listen to me.” Gibbs said. He reached out and rubbed Tony’s head gently, using his arm to block the police’s view as he loosened the tight neck bonds with his other hand. “I’m gonna talk to Ching-Lan—have you met her?”

                “No, sir.” He whispered.

                 “I’m gonna tell her that there’s no way in hell she’s letting her thug take you back.”

                 Tony opened his mouth, then closed it.

                “Speak.” Gibbs said.

                “Do you have some power over Ching-Lan, sir--G-Gibbs?”

                “We have an understanding.” Gibbs said after a moment. “I’ve done her favors, and dammit if she doesn’t owe me one.”

                Tony turned pained hazel eyes on Abby and she squeezed his shoulder. “I want to stay with you guys.” Tony said quietly.

               “You’re not going back to Bronislav, DiNozzo.” Gibbs growled. “We’ll figure it out.” Gibbs wished he were as confident as he sounded.

 


	5. Ching-Lan

Gibbs looked out the window as they drove, one hand absently rubbing Tony’s shoulder while Abby murmured encouraging things to Tony. The cops took the three of them through the greater downtown Washington D.C. area. The once proud mecca of U.S. democracy was in shambles. A three hundred yard perimeter around the Capitol Building was fenced off from the public by a chain link fence. The concrete steps leading up to the famous dome were overgrown with weeds and wild brambles. The Washington Monument was a bit rough around the edges since the old government fell.  The first ten or so feet of the bottom of the spire was marred in graffiti that had been sprayed over so many times that it was now just an illegible, nasty mess of black and brown. The monument itself was chipped in places, crumbling like an ancient ruin. The reflecting pool had dried up years ago, leaving a film of dried scum and cracking cement.

They drove past the grassy area where the Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial Wall stood more or less untouched despite the trashed monuments surrounding it. Gibbs couldn’t help but feel a small hint of pride and gratitude that people had collectively decided to leave that and the nearby World War II Memorial alone.

Streets that were once able to be driven had been gradually taken over by pedestrians or crime. In the worst areas, entire blocks of houses had burned to the ground during the riots, leaving behind wastelands of weeds and debris. Stripped cars were left abandoned on curbs or in lots and garbage littered the abandoned lots.

Plenty of subdivisions, though, Gibbs’ included, were left mostly alone. More of his neighbors carried guns. More of them locked their doors at night. More people put up larger fences, but for the most part his neighborhood was blessedly safe.

Many of the national chain stores didn’t survive when the government fell. Mom and pop shops and flea markets had opened up here and there to sell the things people needed, selling everything from MP3 players to clothes to groceries to medicine.

They turned down Pennsylvania Avenue and pulled slowly up the drive leading to 1600. Ching-Lan, the laoban, hadn’t hesitated to move in to the most powerful house on the eastern coast. Gibbs stared out the window at it as they drove closer. The cops had to stop the car every few dozen yards to get through the multiple checkpoints leading up to her house. It had been called the White House in a more civilized time, though now it’s deep red and gold exterior made it resemble more of an ancient Chinese brothel. The famous white columns had been modified into two pagoda-like towers. Delicate fountains and pastel flowers decorated the areas around the building, and the South Lawn had been turned into a huge rock garden with a large white gazebo in the center. Storks waded through many of the small ponds littered in the grass, and Gibbs knew from previous visits that fat orange Koi fish swam under the surface of the glassy water.

It was absolutely beautiful. Even with the secret police and huge guard dogs prowling in the shadows, Ching-Lan’s estate would put any botanical garden to shame. Her grounds shone like a diamond beside the muddy homes and cracked streets.

“Master?”

“Yes, Tony?”

“Am I going to be taken away?”

Before Gibbs could reassure him again, the car stopped and the back doors were yanked open. Sacks grabbed Tony and hauled him out.

“Where are you taking him!?” Gibbs said, grabbing Abby’s leash and sliding out behind them.

“To his proper master.” Sacks sneered. Tony looked at Gibbs, panicked.

“We’ll get you back, DiNozzo.” Gibbs called.

“Don’t hurt him!” Abby yelled. A pair of frightened hazel eyes met theirs before Tony was taken around the side of the big mansion. Gibbs wanted nothing more than to kill those bastards and get DiNozzo back, but for Tony’s sake he stayed put, nearly vibrating with rage. Taking Tony back by force would only cause problems, and then he might not get him back at all. Abby squeezed his hand and he took a deep breath.

“Come on, Gibbs.” Blackadder said. “You wanted your audience with her? Now’s your chance.”

The front hall was dark despite the sun outside. Gibbs could vaguely see tapestries and maps hanging on the walls. A thick incense filled the air, making the place feel stuffy and their heads heavy.

They were brought to a room that may have once been a conference room of sorts, but had been converted into a sterile parlor with a long dark wood table in the center and a single chair on each side. Semi-sheer white curtains covered two giant windows, letting in a milky washed out light. A thick dark red and brown rug covered the wooden floor.

“Jeez,” Abby said when they’d been left alone. “This place gives me the creeps. Gibbs, do you really think—.”

“Abby, we’ll get him.” He hugged her close and planted a kiss in her hair. He sat in one chair with a heavy sigh and Abby sank to her knees beside him. Gibbs slipped the red leash loop onto a hook built into the bottom of his chair for that purpose.

“This carpet’s really nice.” She commented, too nervous to stay quiet. “Easy on the knees, you know? Thick and plush. I wonder if she had it imported from China…”

When Gibbs didn’t answer she fell silent and rested her forehead on Gibbs’ thigh, praying that Tony would be okay.

Another door opened from somewhere in the shadows, and Ching-Lan sauntered towards the table.

“Mr. Gibbs.” She said.

“Madame laoban.” Gibbs said, inclining his head respectfully.

“This better be important.” A white and pink hanfu hung loosely on her slim frame. She inhaled deeply on a long cigarette dangling between pink painted fingernails. Gibbs didn’t know how old the Dragon Lady was—probably easily in her fifties. Minute wrinkles covered skin that was dusted porcelain with powder. Her black hair was twisted up into a loose bun. Her black eyes were hard, cold, and shone with the brightness of an intelligent person who’d seen and endured hardship. Gibbs knew that in China she was a farm girl from a poor family, working all day while her parents fished to bring money in. She’d worked hard to get here, and though she was tough as nails she was as fair a laoban as anyone could hope for. When it suited her.

When she’d heard of Gibbs’ work in reuniting enslaved young people with their families, she had enlisted his aid in helping some of her hand-picked police officers find who or what they were looking for—like finding Officer Sacks’ niece. People had lost a lot in the riots, and pieces were still being picked up. That Ching-Lan didn’t force Gibbs to stop aiding the broken families once she found out he was helping them was a relief, and he, Ducky, and Abby continued to quietly work hard to reunite people with loved ones or precious belongings.

Ching-Lan sank to the opposite chair and regarded Gibbs with a less than impressed look.

“I want to buy a slave.” Gibbs cut to the chase. Pleasantries were just wasted time.

“Go to the markets. There are plenty.”

“A certain slave that is currently in your custody.” Gibbs continued.

“This slave, he means a great deal to you?”

Gibbs stared her straight in her coal black eyes. “Yes.”

“He’s good in your bed?” She puffed on the cigarette.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You are not telling me the whole story, Gibbs.”

She knew he had stolen Tony from Bronislav. Of course she knew. The dragon always knew what was happening in her lair.

“He was one of Bronislav’s.” Gibbs said.

“Go on.” She inhaled on the cigarette.

“I picked him up last night—.”

At this, Ching-Lan chuckled.

“‘Picked him up?’ You stole him from Bronislav, you filthy dog, did you not?”

Gibbs felt his gut wrench. “Yes.”

“You’re lucky I don’t have you killed for stealing and your pretty slave there publicly flogged and sold at auction.” She examined a nail. “China’s allies in Moscow are in need of competent doctors as well…”

“What do I have to do to get him back?” Gibbs asked. He placed a hand on Abby’s shoulder and squeezed reassuringly.

“How far are you willing to go, former _Special Agent_ Gibbs?”

“As far as I need to.” Gibbs winced inwardly. They both knew that was a pretty bold commitment, especially when spoken to Ching-Lan, who as far as they were concerned, was the president, dictator, and a minor deity all rolled into one.

“Gibbs,” she took another puff and adjusted herself in the chair. “You and I

aren’t so different. We both care for our families, yes?”

Gibbs stared at her.

“We both are willing to go to many lengths to help our families, or in your case, your precious slave and doctor and the families of strangers since your family is dead.”

Gibbs’ jaw tightened.

“How many slaves have you and the doctor reunited with their families since my country claimed yours? Two dozen? Four dozen? More?”

“Something like that.” Gibbs said.

“And before that, it was your job to investigate crimes and put murderers in jail. Though you did not always succeed, did you Mr. Gibbs?” She gave him a smug smile. In his searchings, he had uncovered evidence that suggested she may have killed some high profile people to get to where she was sitting now. There may have been evidence to convict her, there may not have been. It was impossible to tell since all the agencies were gone. The cold case implicating her in several deaths would probably stay frozen forever and that wasn’t really a pot Gibbs felt like ever stirring. Not when she held his livelihood and the welfares of people he cared about in her hands.

“Even murderers get lucky sometimes.” He said.

“I have a proposition for you, Mr. Gibbs.”

“I’m listening.”

“I have a sister. A younger half-sister named Mei-Lien. You see, Mr. Gibbs, she was stolen from me by a filthy dog like yourself.”

Gibbs continued watching her carefully.

“My men, my police, they look for her everywhere, but she’s gone.”

“Your men can’t find her? What about Bronislav?”

“Bronislav is an idiot.” She scoffed. “He’s useless and he deserves to have his things stolen by filthy dogs. I don’t believe Mei-Lien is in this,” she waved her hand, “what did you call it—D.C. area?”

Gibbs nodded.

“Here is my proposition. You find Mei-Lien, then you get your slave back.”

Gibbs hardly had to consider his next reply.

“Madame laoban,” he said carefully, “I _will_ find your sister, but I need Tony DiNozzo back now.”

“The slave’s name?” She said lazily.

“Yes.”

Ching-Lan shifted her arm, pressing a button on a radio intercom built into the tabletop. It crackled and a voice spoke in Chinese. She answered back, and the radio went silent. Not ten seconds later, the door she had entered from burst open and Officer Sacks appeared, dragging a shirtless Tony. Gibbs almost roared in rage. DiNozzo had a steel choke collar wrapped around his throat. The metal prongs were digging into his neck flesh as the man twisted a chain leash around his hand. Tony’s wrists were bound tightly behind his back and he was gagged, gasping for air. His eyes were wild with fear and Gibbs almost leaped across the table to grab him and untie him.

“I don’t even need to ask, Mr. Gibbs. I can see by your reaction and your girl slave’s reaction that this is the boy you desire.” She turned her head and ran a practiced eye over Tony’s bare skin. “Not bad.” She stated. “But no. Only when I have my sister will you have him.”

Gibbs took a deep breath. The next few sentences he said would be absolutely critical.

“Madame laoban, if I’m going to find your sister, I _need_ Tony at my side.”

She stared at him.

“As you know, I was a Special Agent at NCIS. One of the best, you’ve said it yourself.”

Ching-Lan exhaled a plume of smoke at him. “Yes.” She said hesitantly.

“The dozens of families I’ve helped? Well, it could be hundreds if I had him with me.” Gibbs nodded at Tony. “I have every confidence that if I had Tony at my side, I could find anyone you or your police wanted me to.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, still not convinced. Gibbs continued.

“Tony DiNozzo was my right-hand man at NCIS. My senior field agent. He’s irreplaceable. If he helps me on this investigation, I guarantee your sister will be found.” He took a deep breath. “What do you say?”


	6. Pizza & Memories

 

Gibbs unlocked his front door and stepped off to the side, allowing Abby and Tony to enter before him. It was difficult for Tony to walk, as Abby had wrapped her arms around his body and wouldn’t be pried off with a crowbar.

“Oh Tony! Yay! It’s totally official now—you’re staying here forever!” Abby squealed. “Well, once the paperwork goes through and all…but we don’t have to worry about that Bronis-whatsis guy coming back for you or any more cops busting in here or—oh Tony I’m so happy for you!”

Tony simply hugged her back, grinning.

“Abbs.” Gibbs said. He motioned her away from the newest member of the household. Abby pulled off Tony, still beaming. Tony’s smile faded as Gibbs beckoned Abby away.

 

_“Get over here, whore.”_

_Tony peered up, watching as Sutton pointed to a spot in front of him. Rachel gave Tony a nervous glance before obediently putting down the laundry they were both folding and obeying her master. Tony watched the guy slap her across the face—his palm_ cracked _over her skin. She yelped and fell to the ground. Tony was at her side in an instant._

_“What the fuck is your problem?!” He growled at his master. “You can’t just hit someone!”_

Tony shivered. That was before he knew the rules. Before he knew how slaves were supposed to act. It was one of the first times he was ever denied two day’s worth of food. Small mercies, he figured, that the guy didn’t do worse to Rachel than slap her. Or so he hoped.

“Abby—” Tony started to speak, but fell silent when Gibbs stepped towards him. He dropped to his knees, staring at the floor, wondering if Gibbs was going to punish him for being affectionate with Abby.

“Tony.” Gibbs crouched down, his voice soft. “C’mon, lemme look at your neck. I want to see if those bastards hurt you with that damn collar.”

Tony lifted his head, watching with nervous eyes as Gibbs tilted his chin up and looked at the small scratches on his skin. He saw Abby watching them and relaxed. She gave him a little smile and he grinned back.

“Couple scratches. Not bad.” He dropped his hands and regarded his newest slave. “I’m not gonna hurt Abby.” Gibbs told him. “Not now or ever. Okay?”

Tony nodded and Gibbs stood up, resting a hand on Tony’s head, trying not to worry.

“There you are!” Ducky came out of the kitchen.  “Goodness—I wake up and no one’s in the house.” He noticed Tony on the floor and Abby hanging her red leash on the pegboard near the stairs. “Ching-Lan?” He asked.

“Yup.” Gibbs said. “She was annoyed, but we can keep Tony now. We just gotta do a case for her.” He held his hand out and Tony grabbed it. Gibbs pulled him to his feet.

“Excellent news, my boy. What’s the case?”

Gibbs inhaled the sweet scent of coffee drifting from the kitchen.

“We gotta find her sister.” Gibbs said, following his nose.

“Easier said than done, I’m sure.” Ducky turned to Tony. “Welcome home, Anthony. Officially, this time.”

Tony’s shirt was still off, and Ducky to a moment to glance at his back. Bronislav’s fresh cane marks stood out with livid clarity in the light of day. “Why don’t you take a shower and shave and I can put more cream on your back, Anthony?”

“If it would please you, doctor.” Tony said dully. That memory had come out of nowhere and was still raging in his mind. What had ever happened to Rachel? He would probably never know.

“It would. Are you hungry?”

“What? Oh, not really, sir.” Tony glanced past Ducky into the kitchen where Gibbs was. Abby was in there too. He took a deep breath. What the hell was wrong with him? It was Gibbs and Ducky for pete’s sake. People he knew would never harm anyone. Neither one of them was Sutton.

“Maybe we can get some soup in you after your shower.” Ducky suggested. He realized he had no idea when Tony ate last. At the very earliest it was late the previous night.

Tony nodded and went slowly up the stairs, exhausted and confused.

 

* * *

 

“Ching-Lan said she last saw Mei-Lien six months ago.” Gibbs, Abby and Ducky were seated around the kitchen table as Tony showered. Abby was typing up notes on the laptop and Gibbs read off the files Ching-Lan had given them. With Tony helping them solve this case, he hoped it would go smoother and faster than if it was just him, Abby and Ducky. While Abby and Ducky were extremely competent at their jobs, they simply weren’t investigators. Tony would certainly help, but Gibbs knew the younger man was going to be fighting his slave demons. Abby had battled hers and won, and Gibbs knew they could all help Tony cope with his own. Gibbs turned a file page, keeping one ear on Abby and Ducky talking. Gibbs hoped getting into the once familiar routine of solving and searching would ease Tony into his home and encourage him to open up and relax.

“There’s been no sign of her since.” Abby finished.

“Who was the last person to see Mei-Lien?” Ducky asked.

“There were two.” Gibbs said. “One of Ching-Lan’s thugs, Bertram Daljeet. He’s dead. And the girl’s babysitter, Annabelle Lewis. No one’s seen Lewis since the disappearance.”

Abby clattered at her computer. “How old is Mei-Lien?”

“Ten, when Ching-Lan last saw her.”

Tony peered into the kitchen, stopping in the doorway. He stared at the small crowd at the table. Gibbs was hunched over a stack of files, reading them, a pair of wire glasses on his nose. Ducky was reading a different set of files while sipping from a mug of tea and Abby was cross-legged in the kitchen chair, fingers flying over the keyboard. It was so homey and domestic. So very unlike anything he’d seen in the past five years. Abby wasn’t tied in the corner nor was she relegated to doing chores. She wasn’t even wearing the collar. They all looked like equals, and Tony stared at moment, wishing—hoping that he would be allowed to join. He eyed the dirty dishes in the sink. Maybe he should do those first. Gibbs hadn’t said anything about him being allowed to sit with them.

 “Ah, Tony.” Ducky stood up. “Feel fresh after your shower?”

“Yes, doctor.”

“Good. C’mon to my room. I’ll reapply the cream and with some food, you’ll be right as rain.” Ducky took Tony by the elbow to guide him to his bedroom. “This reminds of a time about a year ago, when Gibbs and I…” Ducky’s voice faded as he lead Tony away.

“Abby.” Gibbs said after a moment. “He say anything to you last night?”

Abby looked away from her computer. “No. Well, he, he said he thought I was dead…”

“Why?”

“He said it was his way of coping.” Abby slumped back in her seat, pained. “Jeez, Gibbs…it had to have been so bad for him if he had to convince himself everyone was dead.”

“We’ll get him through it, Abby.”

“I know we will. We all will.”

“Yup. He’ll be irritating us with movie quotes before you know it.”

Abby managed a small smile.

Suddenly there was a thud and a crash and the sound of breaking glass in Ducky’s bedroom, followed by a yelp. Gibbs and Abby were on their feet in seconds, rushing towards the sound.

“There, there, Anthony, it’s perfectly alright.” Ducky’s voice soothed.

Tony was huddled on the floor on his knees, his head on the ground and his arms around it protectively as Ducky leaned down beside him, his hand on Tony’s shoulder. Gibbs glanced down at the shattered mug on the floor and the soggy tea bag lying amidst the broken pieces.

Ducky glanced up at them in the doorway and shook his head a little, exasperated and sad. “Tony, come on lad. It’s fine, it was just a mug. We have plenty more.”

“Tony.” Gibbs said. At the sound of his voice, Tony tensed and let out a small whimper.

“I’m sorry, boss—er, master.” He squeaked. “I was clumsy, and, and—.”

Gibbs knelt beside Tony and set his hand on the younger man’s head.

“Tony,” Gibbs said, keeping his voice low, “I’m not angry at you. Neither of us is. Can you kneel up for me?”

Tony took a deep breath and lifted himself up, still keeping his eyes on the floor.

“I’ll clean it up.” He whispered. Ducky and Gibbs exchanged worried glances as Tony went to collect the pieces.

 That afternoon, Gibbs and Ducky were sitting in the living room with their respective mugs of tea and coffee. Abby was in her bedroom with Tony, trying to prove to him via tarot card reading that he was going to be living with them from now on and that no one would take him away again.

“It’s strange,” Ducky said sagely, “he’s like the old Tony, but not. He still calls you ‘boss’ sometimes.”

Gibbs brought his coffee to his lips.

“He’s switching back and forth.” Ducky continued. “Almost as if he’s mixing a native-spoken language and a new language into one.” Ducky mused. “Parts of his old self shine through, but the new part of him, his slave persona, dominates his personality.”

“I like DiNozzo’s old language better, Duck.”

“As do I, but in time Jethro, he’ll come around. Abby did. I daresay her compassion and her experiences as a slave will help him cope and emerge from his shell. He already seems perfectly comfortable with her touch and presence and it hasn’t even been a full day.”

Gibbs gulped his coffee. This was a Tony he had never seen before, and he wasn’t sure how to react. Ducky was right about Abby helping him out, but Tony treated him as his…master. The same way that Bronislav idiot was his master or that anyone before him had been a master. If the scene he’d walked into when he got to the henchman’s house was anything to go by, Tony’d had a really bad time as a slave. Maybe even worse than Abby’s. Tony would need reassurance. Kindness. Gentleness. All the things Gibbs hadn’t been too generous with when they worked together. He’d always had a more “spare them and spoil them” attitude towards his team. That would need to change.

Ducky took a sip of his tea. “You should consider collaring him.”

“No way.”

“For his own safety, Jethro. You know the laws regarding an uncollared slave. They’re fair game for anyone to take off the street—”

“No, Duck. It’s demeaning.”

“You did it for Abby.” Ducky said. Gibbs was quiet. True, he had gotten Abby a proper I.D. plate.

“I got her the tag, Duck. And the chips. The collars she wears are her own.”

“Without a collar, Tony could be snatched off the street. Do you really want to put him through that again?”

Gibbs’s jaw tightened. Collaring another human being, declaring to everyone that they were your slave—your property—that did not sit well with him.

“You didn’t see him when I found him.” Gibbs said, staring into his mug.

“I saw his wounds when I examined him.” Ducky said. “There are some welts on his back from the cane. The skin broke in one spot. The scratches from the choke collar aren’t deep, and there wasn’t much I could do about the scars already on his back. I rubbed some cream on there, and with regular application, the scars will fade, but they’ll never fully heal. And the bruises on his face will look worse before getting better.”

“That drunken asshole was using him as a punching bag.” Gibbs growled.

“This Tony is different than the Tony we knew. He’s been enslaved for nearly five years. He’s hurting. He’s confused.”

Gibbs leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Yeah. I hate that, Duck.”

A mumble of voices at the end of the hall interrupted them.

“Come on, Tony.”

"Abbs, they’re like, relaxing in there. Slaves aren’t supposed to—”

“Tony. Stop thinking of Gibbs and Ducky as tyrants that are going to kill us. Friends, remember? Seriously, just go in there and ask.”

Gibbs listened carefully, hoping that Abby could convince him to ask whatever it was. He was prepared to say yes to damn near anything Tony would ask for.

“But, Abbs, the last time I asked for food, well…it was bad. I was tied up outside once because I burned a loaf of bread.”

Gibbs put his mug down, scrubbing his hands through his hair to keep his rage in check.

“Has Ducky ever hurt you?”

“No.”

“Has Gibbs ever hurt you?"

“Well, there were the headslaps…okay! I’ll go!” Tony appeared in the living room moments later, looking mildly frightened. Abby’s hands were wrapped around his shoulders, propelling him along.

“Good evening, Tony.” Ducky said genially. “Abby.”

“Hi Ducky.” Abby said. Tony had gone rigid and still. Abby gave him a shake.

Tony opened his mouth. “Abby and I, well, we were, uh…”

“Tony!” Abby said.

“Wewerethingkingofmaybeorderingpizza.” He blurted.

“What?” Gibbs said.

"If that’s okay?” Tony winced and looked like he was about to drop to his knees, but Abby held on tightly.

“DiNozzo.” Gibbs sighed. “Repeat what you said. Slower.”

“Can we…get a pizza?”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea.” Ducky said. “None of us have eaten dinner, and I imagine, Anthony, you probably haven’t had a pizza in ages. Let’s see if we can find a local place.” Ducky got up and walked towards them and Tony gulped, stiffening as he drew closer to Abby.

Noticing this, Abby leaned up and whispered something into Tony’s ear. He nodded and even smiled. She put a quick kiss on his cheek and Tony watched as Ducky offered Abby an arm and escorted her to the kitchen to look up restaurants on the laptop.

Gibbs got up and went over to Tony, pleased when the younger man didn’t cower away. He reached forward and tilted Tony’s head back, scowling at the small scratches and tiny bruises on his neck.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.” Tony whispered.

“Good. How about your back?” Gibbs turned Tony by the shoulder, lifting his shirt, wanting to see the damage Ducky had mentioned. The cane marks were dark pink, slashed angrily across his upper back. Gibbs tightened his grip on the cotton fabric, his jaw clenching at the sight.

“Ducky put some stuff on there.” Tony said in a low voice. “They don’t hurt, master.”

Gibbs dropped the shirt.

“You know you don’t have to call me ‘master,’ Tony. We’re all equals in this house.”

Tony nodded, staring at the floor. Gibbs wondered how long it would be before Tony could look him in the eye again.

“D’you want that off?” Gibbs asked.

Tony looked up at him, a question in his eyes.

“Bronislav’s collar.” Gibbs nodded to the dented piece of metal and tiny padlock around Tony’s neck. Tony reached up and felt the collar. He bit his lip.

“We can get it off ya. You’re not his anymore.”

Tony nodded slowly. “I want it off.”

“C’mon. Come to the basement.” Gibbs turned and flipped the hall light on, pushing open the basement door and jogging down the wooden steps. If he could just get that lock off…some sort of shears or heavy-duty scissors would probably do the trick. It was a small lock, after all. Gibbs opened a drawer in his work table and rooted around, finding a pair of cable cutters. In truth,

He glanced over to where he assumed the younger man would be standing beside him and blinked. Tony was hovering near the top of the stairs, looking down at Gibbs nervously. He eyed the cutters in Gibbs’ hand before flicking his gaze around the rest of the room, obviously a little freaked out.          

Tony took a deep breath. He wasn’t’ really a fan of basements anymore. Ever since, well, everything.

 

            _“Stubborn ass!”_ _One of Bronislav’s paid servants grabbed him by the collar, lashing at his back with a switch she’d yanked off the cherry tree. Once Tony would have fought, but the past four years of slave conditioning had forced him to more or less accept punishment. Fighting back only ever led to worse punishments. He was dragged to the basement and thrown down the concrete steps. Pain seared his side as he slammed into the steps and he heard—felt—a sickening crunch. He was pretty sure he broke a rib in that fall, but it was days until he was allowed a doctor…_

 

Gibbs didn’t say a word. He went up the stairs to where Tony was standing.

“You want it off?” Gibbs asked quietly.

“Are you getting rid of me?” Tony blurted.

“Never. Why? Is it because I’m taking off this collar?”

Tony nodded.

“We’ll get you a new one. One that you pick. You’re living here with us for as long as you want, Tony. Just gettin’ rid of the old to make way for the new.” 

“Do it.” Tony said.

Gibbs turned him gently so he could get a better look at the lock. There was a small _snip_ and then the collar fell apart, clanging down to the floor below.

“There.” Gibbs said. “Like I said, the next collar that goes there will be the one _you_ choose, DiNozzo. That is, assuming you want to live here?”

“What?” Tony looked at him, aghast, and rubbed his hand over the revealed flesh. “Is the pope Catholic?” He blurted. Gibbs smirked and Tony glanced away, looking at the broken collar on the basement floor, still touching his neck.

“Abby says we’re all friends.” He said quietly.

“Abby’s a smart person. Ducky or I could never— _would_ never—hurt her. Or you. Got it?”

Tony nodded. “Yes, sir—boss.”

“You don’t need to ask permission from us to shower, or eat, or go outside, or drive, or watch TV. You have questions, you ask any of us, okay?”

Tony nodded again.  

“We’ll go shopping soon.” Gibbs told him.

Tony glanced at him, one brow up, remembering how the older man hated to shop.

“For you.” Gibbs clarified. “We can get you some clothes. A TV and DVD player and some movies. I can make you more shelves.”

Tony nodded, his voice having fled for the moment.

“I wasn’t kidding before.” Gibbs said.

Tony lifted his head, meeting Gibbs’ eyes for a moment before looking away.

“Before when?”

“When I told Ching-Lan you were irreplaceable.” Gibbs brushed his hand over Tony’s head and went up into the rest of the house. Tony stood there a moment longer before following his new master.

 

* * *

 

After ordering dinner, Tony walked into Gibbs’ other bedroom—the one that they were telling him was his now—for the second time and paused. He was so used to not owning anything anymore. Abby’s declaration that all of this was now his warmed him down to his bones. Gibbs had even _made_ him a piece of furniture.

“My room.” Tony murmured, trying the words on for size. “ _My_ room.” He ran his hand over the satiny dresser surface. He pulled open a drawer that slid like oil on ice. The scent of fresh wood erupted out at him. Some soft Tshirts rested in one drawer, and a few pairs of socks and other essentials in other drawers.

Tony peered at the smooth dovetails linking the sides of the oak dresser together and smiled. Not a nail in sight. This was Gibbs’ precise handiwork for sure.

He spied a stuffed black duffel on the floor in the corner and picked it up. This must be the ‘few things’ Abby had mentioned retrieving for him. He had no idea how Abby had gotten any of his stuff out of his apartment. He remembered the day of his capture like it was yesterday…

 

The white-yellow sun beat on his shoulders as he pounded along the asphalt road. He had just mapped a new jogging route, and it was proving to be a smooth, beautiful course. He breathed deep as he ran easily along, glad to find this moment of peace during such a twisted war. The sky was clear and the trees were green. It was easy to forget that all over the world, cities were falling nearly by the hour.

_He heard the screech of tires only seconds before the black van cut in front of him. He’d been wearing his iPod and didn’t hear the big vehicle even come near. Stupid. Tony startled and was reaching for his knife when the van’s door opened and two men wearing some kind of uniform lunged at him. It was hazy after that, but he remembered landing a couple crunching punches before a hard blow nearly knocked him on his ass. A thick gag was pushed between his teeth. A strip of something heavy and light-proof was wrapped over his eyes. His hands were restrained and he was lifted, then thrown into the truck._

_He had known that was going to be his last day of freedom, he wouldn’t have spent it jogging, new route or not._

Tony sat on the soft mattress and squeezed the swishy duffel fabric. His heart caught in his throat when he saw the NCIS logo blazed in white letters across one side of the bag. He put it on the ground and rested his head in his hands.

Everything was so fucked up right now. Part of him knew that he didn’t need to be calling Ducky and Gibbs master. Hell—it was Ducky and Gibbs for God’s sake. People he used to work with. People he was, _still_ was, friends with. But that part of him was so small. Lists of chores still ran through his head. Bronislav always had Tony draw him a bath or bring him food in bed on silver trays or make a fire or do any other sort of mundane task. His other masters…best not to think about them.

He couldn’t just let go of the past five years now that he was with Gibbs. And he knew they weren’t expecting him to. He knew of course that Gibbs would never punish him the way his other masters had. Of course not. Gibbs wasn’t prone to violence for no reason. He wouldn’t tie Tony up outside or deprive him of food or beat him. Though, Gibbs was a free person, and there weren’t very many laws at all that protected slaves. Gibbs _could_ hurt him. So could Ducky. And there would be no consequences and no one to stop them. The cops worked for Ching-Lan and only Ching-Lan. Why would they care if a slave got whipped or starved to death?

He zipped open the bag and stared at his old life. He felt irreparably different from the man whom these things had belonged to, like a childhood version of himself.

Tony wiped his eyes and pulled out a faded OSU Tshirt. He smiled and brought it up to his nose. He breathed deeply and let out a weary sigh. It still smelled like his old apartment. He wondered if the building even still stood. Putting that aside, he rooted around and found a few more shirts, both long and short-sleeved, and some underwear. A couple pairs of jeans were in there, as were a pair of gym shoes. He’d lost weight, and this stuff might be too big on him now, but it would do for a while. He froze when he saw the items in the bottom of the bag.

Smiling softly, he pulled his badge out into the light. He ran his fingers over the words ‘Special Agent’ and flipped it over to look at his ID. His eyes had been brighter then, and he’d had fewer stress-worn wrinkles. His smile had an ounce of sarcasm and bravado at the corners. He snorted at the short hair on the guy in the picture, compared with his own long locks. He felt the damp strands, deciding he’d like to get them cut, if Gibbs would allow it. Tony flipped the ID shut and looked back into the bag. He grinned when he saw his brown leather shoulder holster nestled beside something else. He frowned and picked it up. A framed photo that Abby had gotten some probie to take one day. They were in front of the elevator—him with his holster and badge, Gibbs with his coffee, Abby in her white lab coat, and Ducky in his aqua scrubs. Tony studied himself once more. He was smiling, and he looked genuinely happy. He hadn’t felt as happy as the guy in the photo in a long time. He tugged the next item, a heavy, plastic blue and red object into the light and laughed.

“Mighty Mouse.” He murmured to the stapler. He set that on the bed and reached for the last item in the bag. It was a little box of guitar picks. He swallowed, the blood in his chest freezing solid. Had Abby gotten his…? He glanced around the room, not seeing a guitar for the picks. He stood, heart in his throat, and moved to the closet. He pulled open the door and almost cried when he saw the familiar brown leather hard shell case, worn and rough at the edges, resting safely in the empty closet.

“Oh Abby…” he mumbled. He heaved it onto the bed and cracked open the lock clips, smiling stupidly at his maple and mahogany semi acoustic beauty—the only girl he ever truly loved. Though at this moment, Abby was rapidly giving the guitar a run for her money. Tony slid the leather strap comfortably over his shoulder, like easing into a familiar sweatshirt. His hands instantly found their places on the neck and body and he strummed, smiling softly at the dissonance that was five years out of tune. Later. He’d tune it later and get reacquainted when the time felt right. His throat tightened and he made a mental note to buy Abby the world’s biggest caffeine drink and give her a giant bear hug as he set it back lovingly in the case, his heart lighter than it had been in years.

 


	7. Arlington & Art

 

             Despite Gibbs’ coaxing, Tony had trouble sitting in a chair at the table—since he hadn’t been allowed to sit and eat like a normal person in years—so all of them sat in the living room, Tony and Abby cross-legged on the floor, laughing and recounting old cases. Tony even asked for seconds, which they all rushed to give him.

              Abby pulled out her case notes when everything was cleaned up and Ducky and Gibbs were content on the couch with their respective tea and coffee. Tony had slipped on the OSU Tshirt and a pair of his old jeans, feeling infinitely better in his own comfy clothes.

               “So,” Tony began, having been caught up on the case during dinner, “Ching-Lan said Mei-Lien went with Lewis and Daljeet to Virginia on a skiing trip on January sixth of this year. That was the last time she saw any of them.”

               “Alive.” Gibbs added. “Her cops found Daljeet’s body in Arlington with a bullet through the temple.”

               “Was he buried?” Ducky asked.

               “No.” Abby answered, flicking through the info on a USB Ching-Lan had provided. “The body was just lying in the grass.” She stared at the glowing screen, her finger flicking on the wireless mouse.

              “Does it say when he was found on there, Abbs?” Tony asked.

              “Yeah. Here.” She turned the laptop around to face them. “This looks like an article that was taken from a newspaper.” Gibbs looked at the headline proclaiming the body to be found. The date of the paper was January eleventh.

             “Newspaper.” Tony said in disbelief. “Someone was lucky enough to get a hold of a newspaper.”

             “It was probably Ching-Lan.” Gibbs said as he read. “It says the body was found on the northwest side of Arlington…nothing else useful. Alright, tomorrow, we’re heading to Arlington.”

             “For what, boss?”

             “To look for clues DiNozzo. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how this is done.”

             “No—no of course not!” Tony said, his eyes lighting, “but it’s been six months already…do you really think anything’s…” Tony trailed off and nodded. “Of course, that’s why we’re going to check it out.”

            “Gibbs,” Abby began. “Arlington’s closed to the public. Do we have access?”

            “Yes. Ching-Lan said to tell anyone who interferes that we have her permission to do whatever’s needed to solve the case. She said we’d have no problems. And if Arlington’s closed to the public, there’s less chance that the crime scene was messed with. We’ll leave here at 0900.”

 

* * *

 

 

             Tony knocked on Abby’s closed door later that night, long after Gibbs and Ducky had gone to sleep. Warm light was streaming from underneath the door. The goth girl had always been a night owl.

            “Hi Tony.” She pulled open the door and they hugged. Soft music was playing from her laptop, not the usual banging noise she preferred. “It’s my ‘hello moon’ mix.” She said with a grin. The pile of blankets was still on the floor from last night. Tony looked at her stuffed animals and big boots on the carpet, squeezing her tighter to him, loving her more at this moment than he ever had before.

            “Thank you.” He said. The words sounded so paltry and stupid compared to how he was actually feeling. “Thank you so much.” He hugged her close and sensed her smile. “I never thought I’d see any of my stuff…or my guitar, ever...”

            Abby pulled away from him, her eyes glassy.

            “You’re welcome, Tony boy.” She rested her hands on his shoulders. “For you? Anything. You want to sleep?”

            “Um, I think I’ll try it in the other room tonight…just to see…”

            “Of course.” She gathered the blankets and piled them into his arms. “But if you want to, come on in. I remember my first nights here. It was a little tough—even though it’s Gibbs’ house and we’re like totally safe here.”

            “Thanks, Abby.”

            She kissed him chastely on the cheek and he went to Gibbs’ other room—no, _his_ room. He reset the sheets in some sort of order and fell into bed. It was weird, being in this new clean space that was his when just two nights ago he was huddled on an icy basement floor with little but a few blankets to keep him the other slaves warm. The light on the corner of Gibbs’ street shone faintly through the blinds, casting white-silver bars of light over the floor and wall. Tony rolled over, pulling the blanket up close, wondering when or if he would sleep tonight…

 

_Tony peered up, his eyes bleary and tired. He shook his head and heard chains jingle. Glancing up, he saw he was on his knees, his hands chained to something above his head. His eyes burned and he closed them tight. So Gibbs_ hadn’t _come and stolen him from Bronislav. Seeing Abby again had just been some kind of cruel dream his subconscious conjured. He blinked, noticing two figures some fifteen feet in front of him._

_“Mister Sutton?” His first master, the man who bought him right after the country fell, the man who broke him kicking and screaming into slavery, was holding the wrist of a young woman, a collar around her neck. “Rachel!” Tony called. She turned to look at him, and Tony choked in horror. Her face was a mottled mess of bruises. Skin was gone in places, showing white bone and red muscle. Tony looked away, the image searing itself into his brain._

_“You let him do this to me!” The voice coming from the ruined lips was accusing and cold. “You didn’t help me!”_

_“I’m sorry.” Tony whispered._

_Sutton turned, grinning at Tony before stepping aside. Chained to the floor was the body of another woman. Tony grimaced, not wanting to look but knowing he was going to. The woman’s raven hair spilled behind her, mixing with the blood pouring from her neck. Her familiar green eyes were frozen open, staring at nothing for eternity. The black spiky collar was torn in half on the ground beside her._

_“Abby!” Tony yelled. “Abby—no!”_

              “Ab—!” Tony gasped awake. He sat up, panicking at the cotton sheet wrapped tightly around his body. He jumped out of bed, shrugging the sheet to the floor before half leaning, half collapsing against the wall beside the bed. He sat there, breathing hard, a cold sweat icing over his body. The bed. The bed in Gibbs’ house. His bed. Tony glanced around at the room, at its bare walls and bars of light on the floor. Gibbs’ floor in Gibbs’ house. Tony took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Where did _that_ come from? Sure he had nightmares now and then. When he was first made a slave they were almost nightly. He’d dream often of bloody bodies or mutilated limbs, people getting beaten and cities burning to the earth. In that first horrible year, he probably slept about one of every four nights. Tony shook his head, running a shaky hand through his hair, settling his hand on the empty space Bronislav’s collar had rested just hours ago.

            He bore no good feelings towards his old metal collar, but would Gibbs really give him a new one? He’d said he would, but masters lied all the time.

_Gibbs isn’t just a master, though._ Tony told himself firmly. _This is_ Gibbs _!_

             If he truly was going to stay here, Gibbs would need to give him a new collar—the laws said he had to. But Gibbs already had Abby…he didn’t need another slave. Unless Abby got orders from China to go to the fuel mines? Tony gulped, feeling worry pour into his gut as his heart sank to the floor. Maybe Abby had already gotten the orders? Every year, random slave serial numbers were drawn from a lottery. The slaves that were picked had to go work a mine or a processing factory or anywhere China deemed for one year before they were released back to their masters. He didn’t want to think about Abby being sent somewhere far away, doing back-breaking work in a pit somewhere in Siberia. Somewhere she wouldn’t be safe. Now that he had his friend back, that he’d heard her voice and felt her hugs, Tony didn’t know what would happen if he lost her again.

             Tony let his hand drop from his neck and he looked at the mattress with distaste. He wasn’t too keen on the idea of jumping back in there and inviting the nightmares to play in his brain again. He got up and wandered into the hall. He paused outside Abby’s room and pushed the door open a few inches. She was asleep, the room dark. Tony had almost hoped she was still awake, night owl as she was. He wanted to see the life in her green eyes and a smile on her lips. He saw her shape curled in the bed. Her face was peaceful, her breaths even and deep. One hand was on Bert and Tony smiled, pulling the door closed again. He went back to his own room, feeling better but still at a loss. He was wide awake and he wanted to stay that way. He looked at the guitar case and hesitated.  Three am wasn’t a good time to play guitar in a silent house of sleeping people. That would have to wait a little longer. Tony wandered to the bathroom and reached under the sink for a brush and can of cleaning spray. If he couldn’t sleep, he may as well make himself useful.

 

* * *

 

           

             The next morning after an early breakfast everyone piled into the car. They had scrounged together anything they thought they could possibly use—makeshift evidence Ziploc bags, a camera. Abby brought a drawing pad with for sketching. Gibbs rolled down his window when they approached the cemetery and told a passing cop that they needed to get in on case-related work. He didn’t hesitate to unlock the huge iron doors and let them in.

            “Well, that was easy.” Abby said, opening up her computer.

            “Probably’ll be the only part of this case that is.” Gibbs said.

            They drove to the northwest side of the cemetery and parked. The white gravestones were still intact for the most part, but everything was overgrown and unkempt. Tony pushed a tattered scrap of American flag with his foot and frowned, stifling a yawn.

            “Alright.” Gibbs said. He tossed them each some gloves. “The notes on the newspaper clipping said the body was in a patch of trees. And since those,” he pointed to a group of sycamores and maples two hundred yards away, “are the only trees around, let’s start there. Tony, sketch. Abbs, shoot.” Gibbs looked to Ducky. 

            “Bag and tag?” The older man said with a grin. They exchanged a chuckle and got working.

            After three hours the drawing pad was nearly filled and Abby, lacking the practiced eye of a field agent, had taken almost six hundred pictures. They were no closer to finding anything than they were when they started.

            “Abby,” Tony said a couple hours later as he stretched his back, “are you _absolutely_ sure that there’s nothing on the USB that could possibly tell us _any_ more about this Daljeet guy? Like maybe why his body was dumped here specifically?”

            “Tony, for the hundredth time. No.”

            Tony groaned and dropped to the cool, moist grass and leaned against a tree.

            “There’s nothing here!” He said, irritated after his poor night’s sleep and wanting caffeine. “What is Gibbs expecting find after six months?”

            “Uh, Tony…”

            “Who knows what happened to any evidence? It’s rained, snowed. Hell, the wind could have blown something away.”

            “Tony.” Abby repeated in a firmer voice.

            “Maybe one of the patrolling guard mutts ate a perfectly valuable clue. Do you think he’ll let us break for lunch?”

            “We don’t have to, DiNozzo.” Gibbs said dryly from behind him. Tony jumped away from the tree and hung his head, his shoulders hunching around his neck.

            “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—.”

            “At ease, Tony.” Gibbs interrupted. The younger man fell quiet and peered up. “Ducky found something.”

             Abby grabbed her computer and trotted towards Ducky. Tony moved to follow but Gibbs stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

            “You okay?” He asked.

            “Fine, sir—boss.” Tony stared at the sketchpad in his hands.

            “Sure about that?” Gibbs pressed.

            Tony shrugged, suppressing a yawn. “Haven’t done this in a while.”

            “Is it being outside?” Gibbs asked, remembering Tony’s aversion to being outside without a leash for fear of punishment.

            “No.” Tony said after a beat. “I have permission from you, and you’re my master now, so it’s alright.”

             “Damn right it is. You’ve been sleeping okay?” Gibbs asked.

            “Sure.” Tony looked up, glancing at Gibbs’ concerned face. “Why?”

            “You drank half the pot this morning and you’ve been yawning all day. Also, I walked into the bathroom this morning and I could see myself in the floor.”

            “Felt like cleaning.” Tony said quietly. He looked away again, becoming fascinated with the spiral binding on the thick pad.

            “Hey.”

            Tony glanced up, meeting blue eyes.

            “You need to talk about anything, we’re all here, Tony. You don’t have to deal with this alone. Talk to Abby, talk to me or Duck but don’t hold it in.”

            Tony pulled away.

“There’s nothin’ to be ashamed about.” Gibbs said.

            “Okay, G-Gibbs.” Tony said, stumbling over the man’s surname.

            “Good.” Gibbs rested his warm hand on the back of Tony’s head, glad Tony didn’t flinch away again. “We’re here for ya.” Gibbs dropped his hand and walked towards Ducky and Abby.

             Ducky was staring thoughtfully into a low sycamore.

            “ _Corvus brachyrhynchos_.” He said when they arrived. “More commonly known as the crow.”

            “A crow killed Daljeet?” Tony said.

            “No. Well—doubtful. Crows, like magpies and many other species of intelligent bird, are attracted to shiny things.”

            “Had some old girlfriends who were too.” Tony muttered to Abby. She snickered.

             “Abby, pull up that photo of Mei-Lien again.” Abby clicked a few times and a photo of a young, smiling Chinese girl popped up. “Look.” Ducky pointed at the screen. “See that? She’s wearing a necklace.” Tony and Abby looked at the screen, studying the delicate golden chain she had around her neck. “Now look.” Ducky pointed at the tree. In a bird’s nest, a glint of gold shimmered in the sun.

            “Is that the necklace?!” Tony squawked.

            “Let’s find out.” Abby murmured. She shoved the laptop into Tony’s arms and hopped up onto a branch. She climbed arm over arm until she reached the scrawny nest ten feet off the ground. She slid on a glove and carefully wiggled and pulled at the glimmering gold until it broke free. Sliding it into a Ziploc bag, she shimmied back down and handed the chain to Gibbs.

            “Nice job, Abby.” Gibbs said. He held up the thing so they could all see it. A small pendant dangled from the chain.

            “It looks like a match.” Ducky said.

            “Abbs,” Gibbs said. “Is the AFIS database still up and running? Do you think you could get a print off this pendant?”

            “I have no idea, Gibbs. It’s definitely worth a shot though.”

 

* * *

 

 

            “Anything yet, Abby?” Gibbs leaned over Abby’s shoulder once they got back from Arlington, placing a big glass of Red Bull on the kitchen table beside her. _Caf-Pows!_ hadn’t existed for nearly four years now.

            “No. But…I think…I may be getting something.” Abby’s fingers flew over the keyboard as she pushed and prodded her way in to the old databases. “See,” she began, “China never really wiped out anything, they just kind of came, enslaved everyone, got their mineral, and left. Things were just abandoned. At least, that’s how it seems. It makes sense that the databases would still be intact somewhere.” She sat back, watching the computer scan. “It’s searching.” She said. “I can’t even give you a ballpark on how long it’ll take, Gibbs. Could be five minutes, could be five days.”

            “That’s okay, Abbs.” Gibbs said. “You’re doing your best and that’s all I ever want.”

            “Aw, Gibbs…”

            “I’m gonna go to the markets with Tony. You wanna come?”

            “Sure.” She pushed away from the table, stood and cracked her back. “We need a new sketch pad. The one Tony was using is almost full. If we find another crime scene that needs sketching, we’ll need a new pad.”

     

* * *

 

           

            About four miles from Gibbs’ house there were three square blocks of nothing but stores. It was a weird mix of the old days and the new. Strip malls had been gutted and converted to a sort of outdoor-indoor row of shops that sold electronics, baked goods, books, clothes, items for slave owners and other odds and ends. Across the road there was a local grocery store that had survived The Fall and stayed relatively intact, the only real difference being that their Chinese cuisine section got much larger.

            Everyday in the expansive parking lot there was a big flea market. Individuals rented makeshift booths that were crammed together and sold a variety of food, bootleg movies, collars and leashes and other things for slaves, purses and clothes that had once been expensive name brands, and any other bit of whatnot you could think of. The huge amount of items sold in such a compact area was incredibly convenient, and most people had adapted well to the small changes in running errands.

            Gibbs parked the car in a designated guarded lot.

            “Stick close to us, Tony. It’s crowded today.”

            Tony eyed the milling crowds. “Like white on rice.” He agreed. Abby slipped her arm onto Tony’s as Gibbs took up her leash loosely in his hand.

  
            They hit the flea market first. Armed cops wandered around, doing very little except look intimidating. Almost every free person they saw had at least one leashed slave with them, and as always, Tony couldn’t help but marvel at the various dynamics he saw. He knew from experience that individual free people generally preferred a certain type of slave. An older Asian man owned a group of twenty-somethings with blonde hair. A white woman in her early forties held the leashes of two young men, both of which had lip rings and flamboyantly colored hair.

             Many owners dressed their slaves in particular outfits that tended to accentuate certain body parts. Tony tried not to stare at a group of barely clad women that walked past. Years ago he may have found the idea of women in skimpy clothing walking around in public to be very appealing. And certainly there were plenty of free people who agreed with that sentiment. But since he’d been a slave, since he’d looked out from the other side, he knew that the ones subjected to the humiliation weren’t getting off on being half naked. And that just made the whole thing disturbing.

             He smiled at the weight of Abby’s arm on his, taking solace in her soothing voice as they talked about the little shops and stalls. Gibbs walked at a meandering pace in front of them, the bright red leash connecting Gibbs’ hand with Abby’s neck. A sense of peace filled Tony like sunlight spilling into a dark room and he decided there was no other place he’d rather be on earth than right here with Gibbs and Abby in this bustling little market.

            They stopped at a booth selling pastries and coffee.

            “Do you guys want anything?” Gibbs said, staring at the menu. “Breakfast was  awhile ago.”

            “Small coffee.” Abby said. “Room for cream.”

            “Tony?”

            “Um...no, that’s okay.”

            “It’s okay, Tony.” Gibbs heard Abby say. “It’s not a trick. Seriously, get a hazelnut coffee—when’s the last time you had one?”

            “Forever ago.” He said after a beat. Then, “okay.”

            “Gibbs—get a small hazelnut too!” Abby said.

            “Donuts?” Gibbs asked.

            “A jelly one.” Tony said.

            Gibbs paid and handed them their food. Tony grinned as he took his donut.

            “May I eat, master?” He asked excitedly.

            “Of course.” Gibbs said, hiding a smile. “It’s yours.”

            Tony tore off the wax paper surrounding the pastry and bit into it, making orgasmic sounds of pleasure as he chewed. Abby bit into her chocolate coconut glazed and smiled at his noises.

            A few people glanced over at Tony, but Gibbs’ glare sent their eyes scurrying back in front of them.

“Thank you, master.” He mumbled through a mouthful. “Thank you, it’s delicious.”

            Gibbs’ jaw tightened. “It’s okay, Tony. From now on, if you ever want a donut, you get one. You don’t need my permission.”

            “Yes, Gibbs.” Tony took another bite and moaned again, then licked the jelly out of the center.

             “What did your old masters feed you?”

           “My first master—Carmichael Sutton,” Tony adopted an exaggerated southern accent and Gibbs’s mouth quirked “—was a fan of MRE’s. My second master was a little better when it came to food. She was loaded, had four slaves, and she fed us often enough with all the food groups. Bronislav didn’t really care what we ate or how we got it, as long as we kept ourselves healthy and didn’t touch his personal food.” Tony took another bite and chewed slowly, savoring it. Abby wrapped her arm around his again as he talked. “Sometimes I would get full meals, on like holidays and stuff when there was tons of food for the master’s family—slaves would get the leftovers…”

            “What was your second master’s name?” Gibbs pressed gently. Tony paused, then said. “Joanna Morgan.”

            “What did she do for a living?” Abby asked.

           “She was a lawyer.” Tony gave Gibbs a wry smile. “I had to break rule thirteen, boss. Sorry.” Tony said with a bitter grin.

           “Was she decent to you?” Abby asked, sipping her coffee.

           “Tolerably so.” Tony said. “Sorta treated me like a piece of meat at times, on the days she’d be drunk. But with my looks, can you blame her?” Tony laughed self-consciously and gave Abby a smile.

            “Yes.” Abby said. “My master, once he caught me, treated me like a piece of meat too.”

           Tony squeezed her hand. “Sorry, Abby.”

           “At least it’s over.” She said.

           “What do you mean you were caught?” Tony asked.

          “Right after The Fall, I stayed with my nuns at the convent for the first two and a half years.”

           “They hid you?”

           “Yeah.”

          “Damn. Like the Von Trapps in _Sound of Music_.” Tony mused.

           “I stayed in the basement. It was only supposed to be temporary—for like a couple weeks. They came to search once. Chinese soldiers came and searched for mine-dodgers like me. They didn’t look very hard though. I was lucky. I tried to find my family afterwards.” She paused. “I had heard most of my hometown in Louisiana burned during the first wave.”

           “Oh, Abbs.” Tony squeezed her hand.

           “Right after Gibbs and Ducky bought me, we all went down there.” She paused, smiling grimly. “Everything—everyone was gone.”

           “I’m sorry, Abby.”

           “It’s okay.” She said. “I have boss-man and Duck. Still talk to the nuns. There’s so many more people out there who lost so much more and have no one to turn to. I’m lucky.” She insisted. “My second family took me in.” 

           “What was your first master like?” Tony asked, aware that was a sensitive subject.

            “He dressed me up. Called me names. He had some other women as slaves, he smacked us around.” She shrugged. “He had all female slaves. He liked to color coordinate us. He dyed my hair bright blue, made me wear blue lipstick and little blue dresses. Other girls wore pink or green. Remember those colored candy drops that would come on those white rolls of paper?”

           “Yeah. Got that stuff every year from the easter bunny.”

           “We were like little pieces of candy to him. Little dress-up dolls. He was a painter. He told us we were his muses, which, I guess if you’re inspired by dressing women like toys and making them feel bad about themselves, then muses we were.” She looked up at him. “Those days are over though. Gibbs and Ducky have never done anything like that. And they never will.” She squeezed his hand and his mouth quirked.

            “You trying to tell me to stop going all Zeus and Apollo around you?”

             She smiled. “I’m just saying that you don’t need to worry anymore. They’re not gonna let anything bad happen to me. Or you.”

            “There was a woman that Sutton had.” Tony said quietly. “Rachel. He’d slap her around. If I was the one that did something wrong, he’d go after her to punish me. He was that kind of guy.”

             Up ahead, Tony noted the way Gibbs straightened. His jaw tightened in annoyance in a way that was obvious even from behind.

           “He didn’t like his male and female slaves to interact at all. To even be in the same room together, to speak to each other. Forget sleeping in the same room at night. He had us all separate. Threatened to beat the hell out of us if we were caught together, even if it was just to ask, “hey, have you seen the toilet brush?””

           “Jeez.” Abby mumbled.

            “Bronislav was a misogynist too.” Tony continued. “He had two female slaves that he loved when he was in a good mood, but beat the crap out of when he was upset.” He turned to Abby. “I thought of you dealing with the same shit and I couldn’t take it. I told myself that if you were gone, dead, then at least you weren’t being hurt.” He gulped some coffee. “That’s what I told myself. I made up these lies to keep myself sane—how fucked up is that?” He laughed humorlessly.

          Abby sniffled a little and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

         “Sorry.” He whispered. He passed her a napkin from the donut place.

          “Not your fault. I hate these stupid slave laws.”

 

           Gibbs spotted a stall that specialized in art products right across from Ducky’s favorite tea booth. He’d helped the owner of that particular tea place find her enslaved daughter. The pair ran the business together now, and they waved when they saw Gibbs. Ducky didn’t really _need_ any more tea, but… 

           “Can you guys get the sketch pad?” He said. He smiled and waved back to her.

           “Sure, Gibbs.” Abby chirped.

           Gibbs pushed some money into Tony’s hand, handed Abby her leash, and they split off.

           “Oh!” Abby gasped as they walked towards the art stall. “Twisted Rivets is here today!” Tony glanced up to where she was looking and saw a stall filled with leather goods and gothic clothing. It was three spaces down from the art booth. “They never set up at the market.”

            “Go, Abby. I can get the pad.”

           “Really?”

          “Sure. Go on. I’ll meet you there.”

          “Thanks Tony!” Abby darted to the booth and Tony wandered under the awning of the little art tent, looking at the paintings and brushes for sale. An unsmiling man with brown hair who looked a little younger than Gibbs sat behind the counter, reading a book. He murmured a hello but paid Tony no attention. Tony glanced across the way. Gibbs was listening politely as the woman in the tea place chattered on and on. Satisfied that he could take his time, Tony went over to the sketchbooks and frowned. There were so many. He had no idea that there could be so many different types of paper and sizes. Abby’s had a blue cover, but so did plenty of these. Gibbs had just said to buy another one, he never said which kind. Tony gave a little sigh and pulled a blue one off the shelf, debating.

           “Excuse me.” A voice said. Tony ignored it as he flipped through the clean white pages. This one looked okay.

           “Hey! Slave!” Tony jumped and nearly dropped the book. The unsmiling owner was glaring at him. “Where’s your master?

           “What?” Tony said.

          “Your. Master. You dumb, boy?” The guy got up and stalked over to Tony, ripping the book out of his hands and putting it back on the shelf. Tony winced and took a step back. “Get on your knees, slave.” Tony dropped and stared at the man’s shoes.

          “Where’s your master?”

          “Just out there, sir.” Tony pointed towards the tea stand. His mouth fell when he saw Gibbs wasn’t there.

          “Where?” The man snarled.

          “He was there! I swear—.” Tony yelped as the guy grabbed his hair and yanked his head back.

          “You have no collar!” He threw Tony’s head forward. “You came to steal!”

           “No! I have money!” Tony yelped again as the guy backhanded him so hard he crashed to the ground. He blinked a few times, seeing stars. He hadn’t been hit that hard in the face in months. The guy grabbed his hair again and slid a leather collar over his head. “No!” Tony shoved the guy away. “I have a master!”

           “No collar, no master.”

            Tony grunted as he was shoved face-first into the ground. The man’s heavy shoe landed on his back, holding him in place. Rage gurgled in Tony’s stomach. Maybe a month ago he would have simply lain there and taken it, but not now, not after Gibbs had found him and started giving him back a few shreds of dignity. Tony struggled violently beneath the shoe, nearly throwing the bastard off-balance.

            “Insolent little bitch.” The guy sneered. He ground his foot into Tony’s back, making him gasp. “You’re going to get the whipping of your life, boy.”

 

* * *

 

           Gibbs stifled a yawn, trying not to look obviously bored as Irene the tea lady showed him a brand new type of tea that they had just had gotten from the Middle East. They were standing among hundreds of little boxes behind her shop, well out of view of the public.

            “Smell that, Gibbs.” She offered him a spoonful of some curled up dead leaves. He sniffed at it and nodded.

             “Nice.”

            “We got such a deal! And this—.”

            “Wait.” Gibbs held up a hand and went still, listening. He heard a familiar voice protesting loudly, and then someone yelling something back.

             “Irene.” He said. “I gotta go.” Gibbs rounded the front of the stall and growled at the sight he saw in the art tent. He bolted forward, shoving people out of the way before muscling into the tent. “What the _hell_ is going on in here!?” He bellowed.

              Tony winced at Gibbs’ voice. Oh shit, that was his ‘interrogating dirtbags’ voice. He was really in trouble now.

              “Master, I’m sorry—.”

             “Shut up Tony.”

               Gibbs strode forward and shoved the art guy into a rack of pencils. Tony lay still on the ground, wincing as he heard Gibbs land a few satisfying punches on the guy’s face.

             “How dare you touch another owner’s slave.” Gibbs hissed. “Get your collar off of him.” Tony heard scrambling, and then felt shaky fingers at his throat, sliding the leather away. Part of him wanted to laugh. The guy wasn’t so tough now. Gibbs’ bad side was not a good place to be on. The rest of him demanded that he lay quiet and huddled, like a good little slave. A few more things were said before a familiar pair of black and white Chucks walked into his vision. Gibbs’ knee cracked as he squatted down beside Tony.

              “You hurt, DiNozzo?” A soft hand rubbed across his shoulders.

              “No boss.” Tony whispered.

               “Good. Where’s Abby?” His voice was tight. Tony winced. Dammit, they shouldn’t have split up.

             “She’s at Twisted Rivets.” Tony said. “I was going to meet her there after buying the sketch pad.”

             Gibbs exhaled in relief. “Kneel up for me.”

             Tony gratefully pushed himself to his knees and Gibbs’ eyes flashed at the red mark on his face.

             “Apologize.” Gibbs growled to the man.

              “I’m sorry!” He cried.

              “Apologize to him too.” Gibbs ordered, pointing at Tony.

             “I’m sorry.” He said again.

             “Good.” Gibbs gestured for Tony to get up and he scrambled to his feet. Gibbs stalked away and Tony practically had to run after him to catch up, confused and worried, wondering if Gibbs was going to punish him.

            “Abby.” Gibbs paused outside the goth shop and barked her name. She came scurrying to the front a moment later, blissed out on a mini shopping high. “Gibbs! They have these awesome purple and black buckle platforms that are on sale for half off…” She paused. Tony had the air of a puppy who had just peed on the rug and Gibbs looked ready to murder someone.

            “What happened?” She asked. Gibbs grabbed her leash.

            “We’re leaving.” He growled.

           “Wha…?” Abby fell into step behind Gibbs, glancing sadly back at the shop. “What about the groceries?”

           Gibbs didn’t answer.

           “Tony.” She sidled close to him. “What happened? Are you okay? Where’s the drawing pad?”

            “I fucked up, Abbs.” Tony whispered.

 


	8. The Collar

 

            Gibbs stormed into the basement after they got home, going straight to the boat. He grabbed a hammer and pounded a beam into place, securing it with a few nails. God, he hated slavery. What he wouldn’t give for these damn narrow-minded idiots to revise the laws and make everyone equal again. He’d give up cheap gasoline for life if it meant that Tony and Abby and all those other poor, enslaved souls would get their dignity back.

            He’d only punched the art store owner three times. He really couldn’t do anymore without a real lawsuit on his hands. And he had pissed off Ching-Lan and her people enough this week. Even if that guy _did_ complain, no cop would come knocking. He and Ducky had too good a reputation among the people and the cops for one snotty guy to make a difference. Gibbs snorted grimly. The very slavery he hated was the thing that kept him and those under his roof safe from China’s corrupted police and any real altercations. Helping many of the people on Ching-Lan’s police force with their problems after The Fall ensured that cops turned a blind eye to any less than legal dealings—like punching a prick in the face because he was throwing his weight around. And people would be wise to learn that DiNozzo was now living under this roof.

              Gibbs ran out of nails and paused. An earthquake couldn’t jiggle that support out of place. He felt better now. Even peaceful and a little bit embarrassed about the way he had acted at the market. Probably scared the shit out of Tony. But that was worth it if it meant Tony hadn’t been captured by that guy. They probably wouldn’t have had any trouble at all if Tony was just wearing a collar with Gibbs’ name and I.D. He sighed. Ducky would give him hell about not collaring Tony first thing that morning, and Gibbs knew he deserved it.

              He plodded up the wooden steps and pushed open the door, peeking out in both directions. Tony was a few feet from the front door with his forehead on the floor and his arms huddled around his head. Abby was standing upright beside him, her arms crossed over her chest and one hip thrust out accusingly. She stared at Gibbs with one brow raised.

              “I’m fine, Abbs. Lemme talk to him.”

               She relaxed and went over to Gibbs, leaning towards him, her voice low. “He’s terrified, Gibbs! He’s convinced you’re going to punish him.”

               “Abby—.”

               “What the hell happened? He thinks it’s his fault!”

               “Hey!” Gibbs interrupted her whispered tirade. “It _wasn’t_ his fault. Some guy at the market tried to collar him.”

               Abby gasped.

               “Yeah.” Gibbs eased himself down and sat down cross-legged beside Tony. Abby hesitated, wondering if she should stay or leave them alone. She glanced at Tony, but he was still huddled. Gibbs caught her eye and nodded towards the kitchen. She nodded back and disappeared. Gibbs reached forward and touched the back of Tony’s head. He winced.

               "Sh…” Gibbs soothed. He rubbed his hand over Tony’s hair, gradually seeing the younger man relax. “Tony. Look at me.” Tony inhaled and lifted himself off the ground. He stared at Gibbs like he was a snarling dog. “You’re not in trouble.” Gibbs said. “You’re not going to be punished. Okay?”

               Tony nodded.

               “Repeat what I said.”

              “I’m not in trouble. I’m not going to be punished.”

              “Good.” He reached forward and tilted Tony’s face towards the light to survey the red scrape on his cheek he’d gotten when the art store owner hit him. It wasn’t bleeding. Gibbs growled. It was his fault Tony had the mark at all. If he had just collared him, none of this would have happened. “I’m not lying to you, Tony. Even if you had laid that guy out cold, I wouldn’t do a thing to you.” Tony stared at him. “You know that, right?”

            Tony looked down and sighed.

             “A week ago I would be getting whipped for what happened back there. And now, you and Ducky are here, and so’s Abby.” Tony blinked as if he still couldn’t believe it.

            “No one’s asking you to hurry, Tony. This is gonna be a long healing process. For all of us—especially you.” Gibbs paused and took a breath. “It’s not easy to see the people I used to work with as slaves.” He added quietly. “Ducky and I don’t like that you guys have to kneel around us in public, or keep quiet, or be _leashed and collared_.” He spat the words out.

           Tony smiled.

           “There’s a lot of adjusting for everyone going on now and…I owe you an apology.”

          “What?” Tony looked up at Gibbs, dumbstruck, before his eyes flicked away.

          “I didn’t protect you. That guy wouldn’t have given you crap if you had a collar on with an I.D. tag.”

         Tony’s mouth hung open in slight shock—after all, _Gibbs_ was apologizing to him. Ducky walked into the kitchen from the living room at the end of the hall. Seeing them sitting there on the floor, he put his book and tea mug on the table and walked towards them. Gibbs kept talking.

          “I’m sorry, Tony. If you’d gotten taken it would have been all my fault because I was the one who didn’t want the collar.”

          Tony looked at him quizzically. Gibbs continued.

          “I hate to collar you and Abby, but it’s necessary to keep you both safe.”

         “Yes it is, Jethro.” Ducky said.

          “There was an incident at the market today.” Gibbs said. Tony looked down, shamefaced. “Some asshole tried to collar Tony. Thought he was just a loose slave.”

          “Jethro…” Ducky shook his head, his voice dripping with disappointment.

          “I know. You were right, Duck.” Gibbs got up and stretched a hand out to Tony, who took it and pulled himself up. Gibbs glanced at his watch. It wasn’t even three o’clock yet.

           “You want to go get a collar now, Tony? We can get it out of the way.”

           Tony nodded quickly. Gibbs looked at Ducky and grit his teeth.

           “I hate that store, Duck.”

            “As do I, Jethro. Actually, I am reminded of a gentleman I once knew who—”

            “Thanks, Ducky.” Gibbs said loudly. He turned and headed quickly for the door, leaving Tony to hear Ducky’s time-when.

            Gibbs pushed the power lock button on the keys and the black car’s locks sprang open. Gibbs slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Tony scurried out the front door, heading for the car. He paused and glanced from door to door, clearly not sure where to sit. Gibbs rolled down the window.

            “Tony.”

            Scared green eyes met his. “Get in the front seat.” Tony nodded and jumped into the car, sitting nervously as Gibbs backed out of the driveway. Fifteen minutes later Gibbs parked in a nearby six-story parking garage and switched off the car.

            “Are you alright with this?” Gibbs asked.

            “Like Ducky said: necessary evil.”

            “Right. I don’t want what happened at the flea market to happen again—the collar is just for protection, okay? Just like Abby’s. It doesn’t mean that I own you or any crap like that.”

            Tony nodded. “Thanks, Gibbs…”

            “You’re welcome. Come on.”

            They walked from the garage and down the sidewalk. Saturdays were usually pretty crowded in all the shopping areas. This particular strip mall was similar to the other one and filled with mostly odd specialty shops. They stopped in front of _Chainz_ , the nationwide specialty shop for slave owners. Gibbs was relieved to see that there weren’t too many people inside. The door _ding_ ed as they walked in and Tony immediately started shaking.

            “Sh, Tony.” Gibbs reached up and squeezed the back of Tony’s bare neck fondly. “Just a collar. And probably a leash too…”

            “Sorry, Gibbs. Good things never came from this place.”

            “Yeah.” Gibbs said with a small smile. “I’ve never bought a collar before. Abby went with Ducky to pick a leash. I only had an I.D tag engraved here for her.”

            “Really? Abby has a bunch of collars.”

            “Those are all her own.” Gibbs said in an amused tone. “I didn’t give a damn what collar she put the I.D on.”

            “Oh. Right.”

            Gibbs was disgusted at the extent people would go to humiliate their slaves. There were racks of scanty and bizarre outfits next to shelves of G-strings. Garish jewelry that could be worn on all parts of the body—literally every body part—hung beside a bright, R-rated neon sign.

            Tony made a sound in his throat like a whine.

            “What’s wrong?”

            “Morgan liked her slaves to wear jewelry like that.” Tony was eyeing a rather ostentatious and intimate piece of metal jewelry that looked really uncomfortable. “The metal ones chafe to hell.” Tony grumbled.

            “Need any help?” A petite girl with lime green leggings and a neon orange collar bearing a green tag glanced at them from where she was stocking a shelf. A pink cloud of bubblegum blew out of her mouth before popping and being absorbed back between her lips.

            “Collars and leashes?” Gibbs said.

            “I’ll show you.” They followed the girl past some more aisles and around a downward staircase labeled ‘The dungeon.’ Gibbs rolled his eyes and sighed as the sounds of tons of people got louder the closer they came.

            Collars and leashes were at the very back of the store. They took up the entire back wall. There was a long glass desk that blocked the customers from getting too close to the wall itself. Each collar and leash hanging was labeled, and you had to ask an employee to see them up close. The wall was packed with customers.

            “Marty or Joe or Gina can help you out.” She said, gesturing to the employees running around behind the counter.

            Gibbs peered up at everything, slightly astounded. “Thanks—” he glanced at her nametag, “Dana, we’re good now.”

            She handed him a number before loping away and Gibbs sighed. There were too many damn choices. Collars in every conceivable color and size were hanging among just as many leashes. Leather, chain, rope, hemp, nylon. Some collars were rigid steel and had to be padlocked around the slaves’ neck, others looked as dainty and fine as a necklace. There were leashes that locked into place with a combination lock, and others that had a simple pressure clip. There were colorful patterns on some leashes and matching collars. Some had spikes, some had rhinestones. A man shoved past Gibbs and was gone in the crowd before Gibbs could comment on his manners.

            “Stay close, Tony.” Gibbs warned. “I don’t want to lose you in this mess.”

            “Kind of ironic, really.” Tony said into his ear.

            “Hm?”

            “I might get lost shopping for the things we’re shopping for because I don’t have the things we’re shopping for.”

            Gibbs smiled at his wry tone, glad that Tony seemed to be mostly relaxed, despite where they were. He tore his eyes away from the wall long enough to see a woman slamming a thick steel collar around a girl’s neck and locking it. It looked just like the one Gibbs had cut away from Tony’s neck the other day. The owner seemed entirely too pleased with her task and the girl winced when the steel tightened around her throat. Gibbs noted the pained look on Tony’s face, watching them with a mix of empathy and anger on his face.

            “Hey, look at me.”

            The timidity in Tony’s hazel eyes made his gut clench.

            “Never gonna happen to you again, you hear? You’ll never be mistreated again, Tony. You and Abbs both.”

            Tony took a deep breath and sighed.

            “Thanks mast—boss…but…”

            “Hm?”

            “It just sucks that we can’t help ‘em all. All the abused slaves.”

            Gibbs squeezed Tony’s shoulder and turned again to face the wall.

            “See anything you can tolerate?”

            Tony smirked. “Um…something small. Something I can forget about.”

            “How about that one?” Gibbs pointed. “E603?”

            Tony looked up and saw the unassuming, slim, silver chain with a small black leather part that the buckle attached to. The links were flat, so it would lie smooth on his neck. The silver was brushed, not glittering like the others, giving it a slightly more masculine look.

            “Really?” Tony brightened.

            “Yeah, what do you want—the sparkling pink one next to it?”

            “No—It’s great boss.”

            Gibbs could tell Tony really did like it, so he pushed his way to the front desk and waited for an employee.

            Above the haze of the noisy crowd, a single voice could be heard, yelling angrily.

            “—Fucking idiot! Are you stupid?!”

            Gibbs couldn’t see the yelling man at first, but when the crowd parted, they saw a tall bald man with a goatee raising a brawny arm. He swung, and the sounds of a lash cracking onto bare flesh and an accompanying pained cry made Tony startle hard.

            “You will obey me.” The man growled. Another lash, another yelp. Tony dropped to his knees and huddled against Gibbs, his eyes glassy with panic and the expression on his face distant. Gibbs knew the signs of PTSD well enough to recognize the terrified look on Tony’s face. Sweat coated his flushed skin and his eyes clenched shut.

            “Hey, DiNozzo.” Gibbs got down on the floor, ignoring the milling people staring at both the angry guy and Tony’s reaction. “Sh, sh…” Gibbs rested his hand on the younger man’s hair, relieved when the bastard and his poor slave left the crowded area.

“You’re alright….” He muttered soothing nothings to Tony until he raised his head and peered around. Recognition spread over his face and he glanced down, realizing that he was on the dirty floor in _Chainz._

            “Boss, I’m such a fucking mess…” Tony whispered, running a shaking hand through his hair. “Will I ever get back to normal?”

            “Yes, Tony. I promise you will. Ducky and Abby and I will see to that, remember? You’re not alone here.” Gibbs got up and pulled Tony to his feet. An employee rushed up to them.

            “E603.” Gibbs said. “Eighteen inches. With the matching leash. I’ll need an I.D too.”

            The employee handed him a piece of paper and asked him to fill out his name and anything else he wanted on the I.D tag. Gibbs signed it and neatly wrote his phone number. He didn’t deal with all that address and slave serial number bullshit. He wanted the tag to be as small as possible. His name and phone number sufficed plenty.

            The man took the sheet and gave Gibbs an order number before running off. They moved to the pick-up area with the other customers. Gibbs sat on a padded chair while Tony sank to his knees beside him. He knew he didn’t have to kneel, but Gibbs suspected it was a comfort thing for him. Tony still had issues sitting at the table with them when they ate—and that was in the privacy of home. He wasn’t anywhere near ready to sit like a free person in public. Abby had that problem too, for the first few weeks or so. Abby had told Gibbs that Tony might kneel at odd times—old habits die hard, she had stated. Especially when the punishment for not obeying could be a few missed meals and a beating.

            Gibbs wanted Tony to start comfortably sitting in chairs like a freeperson, so he allowed Tony to kneel when they were out in public or just sitting around the house. In fact, in public they blended in a lot more when Tony knelt. Most of the other slaves were by their master’s feet—some places even had rules that stated your slaves had to be kneeling on the floor. No kneeling, no service. Gibbs tried to avoid those places though, for his friend’s sakes.

            Gibbs looked around the crowded waiting space. There were all types of owners. One man had clearly allowed his slave to pick his own collar and leash, as the slave took the items happily and placed the collar around his own throat and handed the leash to his master. Maybe they were relatives, Gibbs mused. Or maybe the guy was one of the few non-dick owners Gibbs knew were out there. Unfortunately, many freepeople had chosen the crueler collars and heavier chains that wouldn’t be comfortable to wear for ten minutes, much less all the time.

            “I had a collar like that.” Tony said quietly, his chin resting on Gibbs’ knee as he watched a man struggle with the wide, heavy leather collar his owner was putting on his neck. “From Sutton. I hated it.”

            Once again Gibbs felt a wave of hate for Tony’s former masters. Had Tony been treated kinder, he probably wouldn’t be so bad off now. Had he been shown decency by the people who owned him, his mind wouldn’t have been fucked with so much.

            Hopefully. At least, that’s what Gibbs told himself. It was a comfort to him, even it didn’t really make much sense.

            The man at the counter called his number and Gibbs got up. He swiped his credit card and signed his name before taking the bag and gesturing for Tony to get up. “We’ll put it on when we get home.” Gibbs assured him. Tony nodded, and they left the store quickly.

            They slid into the car. Tony clutched the bag like his life depended on it.

            “Thanks a lot, boss…I don’t—.”

            “DiNozzo, don’t worry about it.”

            Tony nodded and they went home.

            Abby and Ducky were cooking spaghetti and meatballs for dinner when they arrived. Tony’s mouth immediately started watering at the smell of garlic and sauce and spices. Tony kicked his shoes off in the front hall and fished the items out of the bag. He smiled at the collar, looking it over and thumbing the tiny I.D tag.

            “Seriously, Gibbs, this is really nice of you.”

            “I wish I didn’t _have_ to get you that.” Gibbs muttered.

            “My other three collars were crap. Believe me, this one is perfect.” He unbuckled it and looked hesitantly at Gibbs. It was the general custom for the owner to collar their new slaves, but Gibbs was simply watching him with his hands in his pockets.

            “Uh, boss. Do you…?”

            “You can put it on, Tony. I don’t see myself as owning you. Yeah, on paper I do. And if anyone checks the records, they’ll see that you and Abby are my slaves. But when we’re around each other, we’re family dammit.”

            Tony grinned and put the thing around his throat, buckling it and adjusting it.

            “Feel okay?”

            “Perfect.” Tony murmured. Gibbs pulled the leash out of the bag and frowned. It didn’t look like what he’d expected. He thought it would be one long brushed metal chain like the collar, but instead it was a smooth strip of six feet of black leather with about four inches of chain between the leather and the pressure clip and between the loop handle and the leather as well.

            “You like this leash?”

            Tony looked over at him and took it.

            “Yeah…it’s classy. And it just has a regular clip.”

            “So…?”

            The former agent grinned softly. “No one ever trusted me enough to give me a simple clip and buckle like this. Everyone said I was trouble and would run away if I didn’t have a padlocked leash around my neck.”

            “I don’t doubt you were trouble, DiNozzo.” They exchanged a small smile before Gibbs ushered him into the wonderful-smelling kitchen.

            “Oh Tony! It’s gorgeous.” Abby ran her fingers over the cool metal and hugged him. “So you finally made him official, huh El Jefe?” Abby winked at Gibbs and went to the cabinet to grab dishes. Tony instinctively helped her, taking the plates and setting them on the table.

            “Boss, where should I put…?” Tony held his leash up.

            “Ooo, a leash too—that’s a nice one.” Abby exclaimed. “Very masculine. I saw this guy the other day who’s owner had him on a purple silk leash with diamonds—.”

            “Hang it next to Abby’s.” Gibbs said. Tony nodded and moved to the pegboard by the stairs. Abby’s blood-red nylon leash hung by itself on the last peg. Tony placed the black leather handle on the peg beside it, feeling both happy and sad as the clip swung at the bottom, clicking against the wall.

            On one hand, he wasn’t free. But at the same time, he couldn’t ask for a better person to hold the end of his leash. He knew, deep down, that he would be okay and that he would never be hurt again. But that ‘deep down’ was buried under five year’s worth of ‘yes master,’ whippings, food and sleep deprivation, and all the shit that came with being treated as less than human and even being made to believe that it was true.

            To a point.

            Tony had never really, really believed he was worthless, despite the hundreds of times he was called so.

            He ran his hand down the leash, feeling the cool smooth leather. Yeah, he’d be okay. With Gibbs and Duck and Abbs, he’d be just fine. But right now he was hungry for spaghetti.

 


	9. Hair

 

            “Abbs, did you find AFIS?” Gibbs asked.

            “I did. And I dusted the necklace.”

            “And?” Tony said.

            “There’s good news and bad news and really good news.”

            “Some things never change…” Ducky murmured.

            They had convinced Tony to sit on a chair to eat dinner with them, promising if he got too uncomfortable he could go back to the floor. As a result, he was sitting perched on the edge of the chair in a sort of truce, holding the plate piled with steaming spaghetti and meatballs in his hand.

            “Okay, the bad news is that I couldn’t get a print. You know,” she stabbed some noodles with her fork, “Ching-Lan was actually pretty thorough in all the right places on the USB drive. We have copies of people’s prints, photos, bios—did you know that our dead guy, Daljeet, had six toes on one foot?”

            “Is that relevant to the case?” Gibbs said.

            “No. And you’re right—who cares?” She popped half a meatball in her mouth and kept talking.

            “So the match was sort of a bust—But! The first good news—not the really good news, just the regular good news—is that AFIS is alive and well, and the second, really good news…Ducky, you want to take it?”

            Ducky could tell Gibbs was getting kind of pissed off, so he cut to it. “There was a hair wrapped around the clasp of the necklace, so we ran it for DNA. We think it’s Mei-Lien’s.”

            “Why do you think it’s her hair?” Tony said through a mouthful of spaghetti and garlic bread. “We got the thing ouf ofabidhnst…” He gulped the food in his mouth and held his full fork up to take another huge bite. Gibbs raised his hand and placed it firmly on Tony’s forearm. Tony paused, mouth half-open, and slid his eyes to Gibbs. Gibbs stared at him and Tony gently lowered his hand.

            “Sorry, mas—boss. Uh, we got it from a bird’s nest—who knows what kind of stuff is crawling in there?”

            “Well,” Abby said, “It’s black. Most Asian people have dark hair. And the fact that it’s wrapped around the clasp—which happens on necklaces all the time, leads me to assume—Gibbs, I know how you feel about assuming, but let me finish—that it’s hers. But! We need a DNA sample of hers to compare it with.” She looked at Gibbs, “because we all know what happens when you assume.”

            “Unfortunately there is no DNA included on the USB.” Ducky added.

            “Back to Ching-Lan’s.” Gibbs muttered.

            “She’ll probably want a progress report anyway, boss.” Tony swallowed slowly and placed his fork on his dish. He stared at the food with a sour look on his face and his stomach gurgled.

            “Tony, you okay?” Gibbs asked.

            “Uh…” he grimaced and clutched his stomach. “Uh-oh…” Tony leaped out of his chair, nearly sending it to the floor, and ran to the bathroom. They all winced at the gut-clenching sound of puke hitting toilet water.

            “I knew he was eating too fast.” Gibbs stabbed some more food onto his fork.

            “His system’s not quite adjusted to good, home cooked food.” Ducky put his napkin down and headed for the bathroom. “Anthony…” he leaned over Tony, who was knelt on the floor, clutching the toilet bowl and breathing hard.

            “M’okay, Ducky…”

            “We should be more careful with what we all eat.” Ducky said. “Your stomach certainly can’t handle rich sauces and heavy food. Did that pizza the other day make you ill?”

            “No...I don’t think my tummy could ever say no to pizza.”

            Ducky smiled.  “You should really go lie down.”

            “I’m fine, Ducky, really.”

            “Tony, I want you to lie down.”

            “No, I’m okay—.”

            “DiNozzo!” Gibbs yelled from the kitchen. “Do as he says.”

            Ducky sent Tony up to his room and returned to the kitchen. They finished quickly and while Abby and Ducky cleaned up, Gibbs ran up the stairs to change clothes and check on Tony. He changed into a dark blue pair of jeans and a grey button up shirt. Showing up in sweats wasn’t really a good idea. Ching-Lan cared about appearances. He grabbed a black belt and started threading it through his pants on the way to Tony’s room.

            “DiNozzo.” He knocked on the doorframe. By the streetlight outside Gibbs was just able to make out Tony’s form curled on the bed. Gibbs stepped into the room, pulling his belt into place. The leather _hiss_ ed as Gibbs pulled it through the pantloops, and when the buckle jingled a second later, Tony was out of bed and darting across the small room.

            “Whoa, Tony—!”

            “No—please. I’m sorry, I’ll get up, master.” Tony thumped into his bedside table and landed on his butt in the corner, his hands up defensively.

            Gibbs froze, wondering what on earth…he closed his eyes. The belt. The hissing and jingle. Sonnuvabitch.

            “Tony.” Gibbs walked around the bed, freezing when Tony flinched. “I’m gonna turn the light on, okay?”

            Tony didn’t answer, and Gibbs flipped the bedside lamp on. In the glow Gibbs could see his former agent huddled in the corner, waiting for his master to deal with him. Gibbs crouched down, his heart aching.

            “Tony.” He said quietly. “Look at me.”

            Slowly Tony’s arms went down. Frightened hazel eyes met his for a moment before focusing on the floor.

            “You okay?” Gibbs asked.

            Tony nodded.

            “Was it the belt?”

            Another nod.

            “C’mon, talk to me.”

            “Remembered…” Tony said. “Morgan…she’d hit me with this strap she had. I heard the noise and I just…”

            “It’s okay, Tony.” Gibbs said. “We’ll help. This is normal.”

            “No it’s not.” Tony snarled. “None of this should be _normal_. I’m a huge mess—jumping at everything—stupid nightmares keeping me up—afraid to sit on a damn chair…” He took a breath and stared moodily at the floor.

            Gibbs didn’t say anything, but he reached out a hand and rested it on Tony’s knee. Tony winced, but slowly relaxed under Gibbs’ touch. That was a safe touch. Not Morgan’s or anyone’s belt lashing down on him. This was a touch his gut told him would never hurt him. Now if he could only believe it.

            “Thanks, boss.” He said after a moment.

            “We gotta go to Ching-Lan’s.” Gibbs said, hiding a smile. “We need to ask about the DNA. Do you feel up for going?”

            “Yeah.” Tony rubbed his head and sighed. Gibbs stood up and held a hand out to the younger man, hoisting him to his feet.

            “Your stomach feeling better?” Gibbs asked.

            “Yeah, actually. Ducky was right. Too much food too fast and not enough healthy stuff.”

            Gibbs grunted. “We’re going to get some good food for you tomorrow.”

            “I’ll warn the art shop owners.” Tony smiled wryly. Gibbs smirked and left him to change clothes. Tony slipped into something a bit more presentable.

            “Idiot.” Tony muttered when he was alone and putting on a black button down shirt. “It was just Gibbs and just a belt.” Tony frowned, feeling disgusted with the pathetic way he was acting. The sound of a belt had just sent him running across the room in a terror. Hell knows what other crazy shit he would do. What other minor, innocuous thing would send him running for the hills? He slid a pair of dark jeans on and went down to the foyer.

             Ducky had his hat on and was buttoning a sweater over his shirt. Abby was sitting on the floor sliding her calf-length boots up her legs and lacing them tightly. A black studded collar was around her throat. Gibbs grabbed the leashes from the pegboard and they all piled into the car.

            “Are we just gonna drive on up to the house?” Abby asked. “I mean, there’s security and stuff.”

            “Oh, I know she’ll see us.” Gibbs said.

            “I brought the necklace, just in case.” Abby said.

            “Good thinking.”

            Gibbs pulled up to the White House gate and stuck his head out the window. He honked. Silence.

            “Hey!” He yelled.

            A voice crackled through an intercom above the gate. The voice spoke in Chinese and sounded angry.

            “It’s Gibbs. Ching-Lan’s expecting us.” There was a beat of dead air from the intercom and then the gate slid open. Gibbs maneuvered past the checkpoints as each guard waved him on without a second glance.

            “Wow, it’s like we’re celebrities or something.” Abby said. She clipped her leash to her collar. Tony took a deep breath, looking at the strip of leather, and did the same. A familiar sense of fear and dread filled his stomach as soon as the lightweight leash pulled at his throat. He reached up to feel where the clip slid over the little D-ring. His mind was going into slave-mode again, instinctively preparing him for getting yanked around and uncomfortably tugged on like he was some badly trained dog. But Gibbs wouldn’t do that, right? He looked at Abby. She smiled at him and squeezed his hand. Tony hoped he wouldn’t throw up again.

            Gibbs parked the car right by the front door and startled when a slave opened it for him.

            “Mr. Gibbs.” He bowed and shut the door behind Gibbs. Ducky got similar treatment. Abby and Tony were ignored. Gibbs took their leashes loosely in his hand and they were escorted into the house. The foyer had its usual spiced incense-y smell. A chandelier brightened the area, revealing gorgeous flowers and furniture that hadn’t been visible before in the gloom.

            “This way please.” The slave led them through an adjacent room and into a parlor that was much cozier than the hollow, cold conference room. It was well lit by several dragon-shaped floor lamps. Soft music played and the walls were covered in some sort of expensive looking silk fabric. A thick table of dark wood with heavy, carved legs was in the center of the room. There were three squashy blue chairs—two on one side, and one on the other. Hooks for hanging leashes poked out from under the seats. Gibbs noticed that the carpet was thick and lush. Tony and Abby wouldn’t be too uncomfortable kneeling.

            Tony whistled appreciatively at the opulence.

            “This is a lot nicer than that other room.” Abby said. The slave escort disappeared, and then came back bearing a platter of sweet-smelling food.

            “Bow-ties!” Abby breathed. The platter was set down and the slave went back through the door. Tony looked at the dish curiously. There were three types of food: crumbly yellow cookies, some kind of sugary, crispy bite sized things shaped like bow-ties, and glazed sliced pears.

            “Dessert.” Ducky mused as he sat. Gibbs sat down in the other chair, suspicious. Ching-Lan had never pulled out all the stops to impress him before.

            “She must really care about her sister.” Ducky said. Abby knelt down on Gibbs’ left side, while Tony slowly knelt between Gibbs and Ducky.

            “Boss?” Tony peeked up at him. “What if she takes me back?”

            “She won’t.” Gibbs said firmly. “Don’t worry.”

            Tony tugged the clip of the leash away from his neck and adjusted his collar. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gibbs drop his arm and slip the leather loop onto a hook in the chair. The leash coiled on the carpet, giving Tony plenty of room to move if he wanted. Tony sighed, glad for the slack—yet another reason Gibbs was a way, way better owner than the others had been. Gibbs reached forward and took a napkin. He put a few bow-ties on it and handed it to Abby.

            “Thanks, Gibbs.”

            “You want something, Tony?”

            “No, better not. Ching-Lan would probably kill me if I barfed on her carpet.”

            Gibbs sat quietly while Ducky helped himself to a pear. There was a rustle on the other side of the door, and then Ching-Lan hurried in. She looked a little frazzled, as if several things had just happened at once.

            “Dr. Mallard, Mr. Gibbs. You have news on my sister?” She sat down across from them, totally ignoring Tony and Abby.

            “Ah, sort of.” He felt Abby slip the necklace in the bag into his hand. He passed it to Ducky.

            “We found a hair.” Ducky began.

            Ching-Lan leaned across the table and stared at the little necklace. Her eyes widened and she cried out something in Chinese. “This is my sister’s!” She said.

            “We recognized it from the photo.” Ducky assured her.

            “Where did you find it?” She took the bag reverently and examined the little gold chain.

            “Arlington.” Gibbs said.

            “Arlington…” she repeated. “Where that filthy dog’s body was dumped?”

            “Daljeet? Yes.” Ducky answered. “The hair is on the clasp of the necklace.” Ching-Lan looked closer, humming in her throat at the hair. “We’re not sure if it’s hers, and we were hoping that you might have something else of Mei-Lien’s.” Ching-Lan tore her eyes away from the necklace and nodded.

            “Yes, yes. You need something else with her DNA to compare to?”

            “Precisely.” Ducky said.

            She nodded and snapped her fingers a few times. A different slave came in from the other doorway. They exchanged a brief dialogue in Chinese and the slave bowed before leaving and returning moments later with a small white hairbrush.

            “Ah, perfect.” Ducky took the brush and looked at the hairs. “Do you mind if we…?”

            “Take it.” Ching-Lan said, watching Ducky slide it into the bag. “Find my sister, Gibbs.” Ching-Lan said quietly, her voice hard as steel. “If you don’t, I may reconsider letting you keep your DiNozzo.”

            Tony stared up at her, horrified.

            “Abby too, for that matter.”

            Abby made a strangled sound.

            “They’re mine, Ching-Lan.” Gibbs growled. “I bought Abby two years ago and the paperwork has already gone through on Tony.”

            “Paperwork can get misplaced.” Ching-Lan told him. “Find her, Gibbs.” The desperation in her voice melted the edge off his anger. “She is all I have left.”

            “We _will_ find her, Ching-Lan. I promise you that. Remember, we did this for a living once.”

            Ching-Lan wiped her nose with a flowery handkerchief. “You’d better find her.” She snapped. “Do you need anything else?”

            “No.” Gibbs said. He unhooked the leashes from the chair and stood, waiting until Tony and Abby got up before walking. Ching-Lan and Ducky talked some more about Chinese food as she escorted them personally to the door and said goodbye.

            “Gibbs.” Tony said once they were in the car. “You don’t really think she’d take us back?”

            “She won’t lay a hand on either of you.” Gibbs said. He turned around and stared at both of them. “Got that?”

            They both nodded and Gibbs started driving.

            “So what’s the next step, Gibbs?” Abby said as they drove back home.

            “Tony?” Gibbs glanced in the rearview mirror. “What’s our next step?”

            “We go to the ski resort where Lewis, Dajeet and Mei-Lien were last seen.” Tony said.

            “Abbs--,” Gibbs said, “did it say on the USB where the ski place was?”

            “It did.” Abby said. “Bryce Resort in Bayse, Virginia.”

            “That’s our next stop.” Gibbs confirmed. “We’ll go the day after tomorrow.”

 

 


	10. Bryce Resort

 

               Tony leaned over the cream-colored bathroom counter that night, staring down at the silver drain in the bottom of the sink basin as cool drops of water ran off his chin. He rested his elbows on the hard porcelain and, cranking on the faucet again, splashed more cold water on his face. He turned the water off and took a deep breath, then groped blindly for a towel.

             That had been another bad one. When he was owned by Suton, or Morgan, or Bronislav, nightmares rarely woke him, but since coming home…he paused. Home. Never once had he thought of Gibbs’ retro crib as home when he was free, but somehow the word had just slipped into his psyche. It was more of a home than anywhere he’d lived in the past five years, that was for sure. He briefly wondered about his old apartment, if the building even stood anymore.

No doubt Ching-Lan’s attentions earlier and his bringing up his previous masters to Gibbs and Abby at the market had kicked the cage.

            He pulled the towel away from his face and saw Abby reflected in the mirror in the doorway, in her black and white skull pajama bottoms and a black tank top. She looked different with her hair down. More relaxed in an innocent kind of way. 

            “Nightmare?” She asked.

            “Yeah.”

            Abby came forward and hugged him from behind, then took him by the hand and led him wordlessly from the bathroom, to her own bed. She moved the covers and slid in, pushing herself up against the wall to make room for her friend. Tony got in after her and pulled the blankets up over them both. He settled on his back, staring up at the glowing stars stuck on to the ceiling. The bed smelled of laundry detergent, her perfume, and the sweet, slightly exotic scent that was just…Abby. The Abby-smells were becoming familiar again, and very welcome. He’d been here nearly two weeks, and slowly, very slowly, he was starting to associate the scent of her hair, Gibbs’ coffee, and Ducky’s aftershave as smells of peace and contentment. Safety. Security. The smells were so different from his own yet just as familiar and welcome.

            Abby rolled onto her side and pressed up behind him, stroking his hair in silence as Tony started whispering into the dark.

            “I was in the house—but Gibbs wasn’t here, and neither were you or Duck. I don’t why or where you guys were, I just knew that I was alone. I had been left behind, I think.”

            Abby snuggled closer into him and rested her forehead against the back of his head.

            “I was naked, and chained to the worktable in the basement, and there was a whip sitting there. I could hear all my masters upstairs.” Tony fell quiet, the idea of all his former owners together in one room making his heart pound. “I could hear feet on the floorboards walking around overhead. For some reason, I knew someone was going to come downstairs to whip me. But I didn’t know when or why.”

            Abby whimpered a little and put her arm around his chest, pulling him into a half-hug.

            “You know that horrible, gut-eating fear when you know that you’re about to be in some of the worst physical pain you’ve ever experienced? Maybe not. I hope you don’t.”

            Abby nestled her head in the crook of his neck.

            “It was just this heavy weight of dread and panic right in my stomach and chest, hanging there, like a dead thing. I couldn’t even run away, because I was chained up. You guys had left me and I was going to be punished for no reason. Hell, maybe Gibbs had even sold me. I was terrified. And angry.”

            Tony rolled over so they were facing each other. Abby put her left arm around his shoulder and pulled him close.

            “Hey.” Tony said. “Are you gonna be staying here?”

            “Where?” Abby asked.

            Tony paused. “Are you going to the mines? Did your number get drawn?”

            “No, Tony.” Abby said. “Why do you think that?”

            Tony bit his lip. “Gibbs stole me. Got me the collar. If you have to leave, he might be replacing you with me for a while. Until you come back.”

            “You’re not replacing anyone and no one’s leaving. Gibbs stole you from Bronislav because Gibbs—all of us—want you here.” She said firmly. “Forever.”

            “I know. You keep telling me that.”

            “And I’m going to keep saying it until you believe me or my tongue falls out, because it’s the truth!”

           “Have you been to the mines?” He asked.

            “No. You?”

            “No. I’ve never known anyone who went, either.”

           “I hope I never go.” She said quietly. “Or you. They sound terrible.”

            Tony shifted and wrapped an arm around her. She buried her face in his neck and they fell asleep, both sleeping soundly through the night.

            Abby woke the next morning, staring at a head of brown hair on the pillow beside her. She smiled. She heard someone moving in the kitchen, and the faint _beep_ of the coffee maker. Gibbs was up. She could tell by the milky light on the sheers behind her that it was probably before ten am. Abby looked at Tony, thinking about what he’d said last night. His owners had been downright cruel. No wonder he was so jumpy and awkward around Gibbs and Ducky. She promised herself that would do anything she could to make Tony feel better, no matter what. She owned him at least that much for taking so long to find him in the first place.

            There were footsteps on the stairs, then Abby felt someone enter the room behind her. She tilted her head back and grinned at Gibbs.

            “You guys okay?” He whispered.

            “He had a nightmare.” Abby whispered back.

            Gibbs nodded and Tony rolled over. He blinked sleepily at Abby and gulped when he saw Gibbs.

            “H-Hey, mast—boss.”

            “Morning, Tony.”

            The younger man merely nodded, tense, before getting out of the bed and hurrying to his own room.

            Abby watched Gibbs watch Tony scurry past him to his own space, deep lines of worry on his face.                    

            “He’ll come around.” She said. “Remember what he said about how his old masters felt about men and women slaves staying together?”

            “He’s gotta know I’d never hurt him, Abbs.” Gibbs muttered.

            “Patience, oh great master.” She said with a small grin.

            “Never really been one of my strong points, Abbs.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Tony hurried into his room and rubbed his hands through his hair. _Gibbs won’t care! Gibbs won’t care if I sleep in the same room as Abby!_ Tony repeated this to himself a few times, finally calming down. His eyes fell to the guitar case, lovingly set in the corner. He grabbed it and dropped it on the bed. He unbuckled the silver clasps and lifted the leather lid, inhaling the familiar scent of the wood and the vaguely metal-and-hide tang from the case. He lifted the guitar out of the thin furry protective nest and ran fingers over the strings. The sounds were jarring and out of sync, but they fell over Tony’s body, calming him from the inside out. He sat on the bed and propped her up on his knee, twisting the silver keys with his left hand and strumming softly with his right until the voices of each taut string were back in harmony. Smiling, Tony let his hands fall into place on the instrument. He ran through some basic chords, reacquainting himself with her after so much time spent apart. A half-remembered song filtered into his brain, something he had been working on the day he was captured. He picked the tune out, gradually expanding it, adding a minor chord here, a bridge there. The sweet notes filled the room, echoing off the bare walls.

            Tony stopped, unsure of where to take the piece. He looked down at the sleek smooth red-brown body, suddenly thinking back to his five hundred dollar Zegna shoes and Armani suits. God, what a waste those had been. When he bought those, he would never have thought that in a few short years he would be forced to kneel for other people, forced to wear a collar like a dog and perform mindless, stupid, and often unpleasant tasks for various owners. He still saw Gibbs as an owner—which he was. As was Ducky. He doubted he’d be able to easily slip out of that mode of thought. But they were all being patient with him.

            He’d be much worse off without Abby and witnessing her ease at the end of Gibbs’ leash and their banter. Just like before. Deep down he knew that nothing had changed but their legal statuses. He sighed and fingered his chain collar. He felt absolutely nothing. He should be outraged. He should be tearing it off and flinging it as far as he could. But there was nothing. No happiness, no anger. He fiddled with it the same way Abby would twist her rings around her fingers in an absent, mindless habit. But no, if anything it was security. Gibbs owned him and Gibbs didn’t leave his people behind.

            He got up and set the guitar aside, thankful once again that Abby had grabbed it for him, and gathered the things he needed for a shower. Everyone would be proud that he took one without asking, including himself.

 

* * *

     

            The next morning, they arrived at Bryce Resort after a long but uneventful drive. Everyone took their bags from the trunk and, after Gibbs leashed Tony and Abby, they headed up the steps and into the main lodge to check in.

            Tony slowed as they entered and looked around the high-ceilinged lobby. Comfortable leather chairs draped with winter-themed afghans were clustered around tables in the center of the room. A generously sized fireplace was in the center of the sitting area, but it was left unlit; black and cold in the middle of summer. A dimly lit bar was off to one side and a restaurant was beside it. Inside, a few patrons ate at tables covered in white tablecloths while their slaves knelt on the carpet beside their feet. A round glass elevator with a couple people inside rose to the top floor. Tony gulped as he saw several chandeliers tastefully made of antlers and various animal horns hanging from the rafters. He thought of Bronislav and shuddered.

            “Wow, this is so nice.” Abby hissed. Tony nodded and slid his eyes to the front desk. Ducky was talking to the woman behind the counter but Gibbs was standing here, beside his slaves, simply waiting. It was then Tony realized that Gibbs had stopped when he and Abby had stopped to allow them to look around. Since he held their leashes, he didn’t want to tug on them, even if it was purely accidental. Even if they had stopped for no other reason than to ogle the lobby. The simple kindness of the gesture rushed to Tony’s heart and he grinned stupidly at his boss. No master had treated him to such a simple favor since he was enslaved.

            “Nice place.” Tony said to him. Gibbs nodded, looking vaguely amused before they all headed after Ducky.

            “We have three rooms.” Gibbs explained. Ducky handed Abby a key card and passed one to Gibbs. “Tony can’t legally—or whatever the hell passes for legal these days—be on his own without one of those green tag thingies, so he and I have to share.” He glanced fleetingly at Tony before grabbing the handle of his bag and walking towards an elevator.

            Tony nodded, feeling suddenly embarrassed. Ducky and Abby had their own rooms, but he was stuck with Gibbs like an untrustworthy child. A deep hole formed in his stomach and he swallowed as he followed his friends to an elevator. Of course he knew _Gibbs_ trusted him. And if it were up to the former Marine they’d each have their own rooms. Still though, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy for Abby and the chips around her neck. He still had to wait another year and a half for those. They took the elevator to the third floor and walked down a hall decorated with smaller versions of the lobby antler chandeliers and black and white photos of Shenandoah Valley in the winter. 

            The lodge wasn’t very crowded in the summer, so Abby had been able to book them rooms next to each other. Hers was across the hall from Tony and Gibbs’. Ducky’s room was next to hers.

            “Alright.” Gibbs said. He handed Abby and Tony the ends of their leashes. “Drop your stuff off, and come back to our room.” He glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes. Abbs, bring your computer.”

            “Yes sir!” She saluted and let herself into her room. Ducky went down the hall to his and Gibbs slid the card into the slot of the door behind him. The lock beeped and clicked open. The room was decently sized, with two double beds and a desk and an office chair on wheels. A red armchair sat in one corner beside a small table. Two tall windows and a sliding glass door leading out to the balcony took up one wall. A huge TV was in a cabinet angled towards the two beds. Beside that was a coffee machine. A few strategically placed hooks near the beds and desk were clearly meant for hanging leashes. The room continued with the places’ overall winter décor. 

            Tony sat heavily on one bed and flopped back as Gibbs went into the adjacent bathroom. He stared at the ceiling listlessly, feeling the weight of the leather leash trailing down his chest. His slave side was hopping around in his head, yelling at him to unpack the master’s bag and make himself useful. Tony snorted. If Gibbs caught him touching his things, he’d probably threaten to break his fingers.

             Joanna Morgan, his second master, took him to a hotel once, but she had left him resolutely chained in the room almost the entire time, speaking to him only when necessary and giving him the most inexpensive things from room service—usually not more than some water and bread. He shut his eyes. He just wanted to lay here forever and not be bothered. He scrubbed a hand angrily across his eyes, silently hating Gibbs for treating him as a person again, then hating himself for feeling that way, then ,as always, hating the slavery and the collar and leash he had to wear. He hated what it had done to him. 

            “Hey.”

            Tony jumped as Gibbs came out of the bathroom. Gibbs paused.

            “You okay, DiNozzo?”

            “Peachy, boss.” He said. Gibbs stared at him, looking for a moment like he was going to say something. After a second he stalked out of the room. Tony lay in the silence and didn’t move until he heard a small knock at the door. He groaned and got to his feet and shuffled over to the door to open it.

            “Hey Tony.” Abby breezed in past him and set the glowing laptop on the desk. Tony noted that she had taken off her leash. She hadn’t even brought it over with her. Tony felt a wave of revulsion. He couldn’t even take off his own fucking leash like Abby could. He was too damn weak to do even that small thing.

 

* * *

   

            Gibbs pushed through Ducky’s partially open door without knocking. He rubbed a hand over his head and paced back and forth before the bed.

            “I hate this.” He said he said to his friend by way of greeting. “I don’t know how to _be_ around him. He’s either his old self or his slave self and everything I say is the wrong thing.”

            “Oh, Jethro.” Ducky put down the clothes he was removing from the suitcase. “Anthony trusts you.”

            “Does he?” Gibbs growled. “He’s jumping and flinching every time I come near!” Gibbs looked at the doctor with an expression of wrung-out helplessness. “Abby wasn’t like that. When we got her she was nervous, but not _scared_ of us.”

            “Look at it from his point of view.” Ducky said practically. “I saw his wounds, we’ve all seen how he flinches from both of us and how he insists on our permission to do the smallest of tasks. Remember how protective he was of Abby? Think about how it was for him—how his previous masters treated him.”

            “Bastards.” Gibbs spat.

            “Exactly. Abby wasn’t owned as long as Tony. She wasn’t shuffled from house to house as he was. She was mistreated, yes, but you’ve always been close with her, and no doubt she fell back on that bond you two have once you brought her home.”

             Gibbs was quiet.

             “Tony had a different relationship with you when we worked at the office. Tony needs a different approach than Abby did. You’ve been giving Tony space, like you did with Abby. We’ve all been showing him kindness, which heaven knows he needs. Abby came to you after a time, seeking that affection. She never truly saw you as ‘master’ the way Tony does. He may need a helping hand in viewing you the way he used to at the office.”

            “Meaning what?” Gibbs asked.

           “Give him orders. Slap his head. Treat him like you did five years ago.”

           Gibbs blinked. “Ya lost me, Duck.”

           “He’s searching for leadership. For five years he’s only known sadistic rules and discipline. You can offer him rules and discipline in a safe, caring environment—like you did when he was your subordinate. Your kindness, though well-intentioned, may hinder his healing in the long run.”

            “So I need to be more like the assholes who owned him?”

            “No, just be yourself. Stop acting like he’s made of glass. He still feels like a slave, and that is something that’s not going to go away overnight. We’ve pulled him away from that submissive mindset, but it is still a large part of him. Slavery is like a security for him now. It’s familiar. It’s all he’s known for years.”

            Gibbs looked at his friend, slightly pained.

            “Indulge him.” Ducky said. “Start giving him some basic commands. He doesn’t know what to do with the freedom he suddenly has.” Ducky smiled. “We’ve all helped him through the initial hurdle. He’s coming back, Jethro. Slowly. This will help.”

           

* * *

 

            “Where’s Gibbs?” Abby asked, looking around the spacious, empty room.

            “I don’t know.” Tony sank to the bed again and stared at the floor. Abby looked up, her forehead wrinkled with concern for her friend.

            “What’s wrong, Tony?” Abby sat beside him on the bed and took his hand. “Did he say something?”

            “No.” He thought about telling her how wretched he felt and how Gibbs was being too damn nice to him and that he couldn’t even remove his own goddamn leash. No wonder he couldn’t have his own room. He was a mess.

            “I’m fine.” He stuffed the emotions down. He couldn’t be distracted on this one, not with Ching-Lan’s threat that she’d take him and Abby away hanging over his head like an acid-filled storm cloud. “How’s your room?”

            ”It has a gorgeous view of the parking lot.” She said wryly. Tony snorted. Voices down the hall indicated Ducky was on his way, and it sounded like he had Gibbs with him.

            “Okay.” Abby said once the two men were in the room. “Lewis and Daljeet and Mei-Lien got here on the sixth of January.”

            Ducky pulled up the red armchair and sat down on the opposite side of the desk, catching Gibbs’ eye and giving him a nod. Gibbs grabbed a folding chair and an extra pillow from the closet. He set the chair next to Ducky’s and dropped the pillow on the floor on his right side.

            “DiNozzo.” He said, sitting down. Tony looked up. Gibbs snapped his fingers and pointed at the pillow. Tony jumped off the bed eagerly and dropped to his knees in the indicated spot. The feather pillow was thick and soft, shielding his knees from the thin hotel carpet.

            “Thanks, boss.” He said gratefully, shooting the older man a smile.

            “You’re welcome.” Gibbs reached down and unclipped the leash from his collar. Abby grabbed the laptop and slid to the floor beside Tony.

            “Daljeet’s body,” Abby continued, “was found in Arlington five days later on the eleventh.”

            “We need to figure out who was working here six months ago.” Tony said. “Talk to them. See if they remember.”

            “Does Ching-Lan have any authority in Virginia?” Ducky asked.

            “No. But she spoke to the laoban for this area.” Gibbs said. “And the hotel manager. We can investigate whatever we need.”

            They discussed a few more details, deciding in the end to get a list of employees from the manager that dated back to six months ago. They split the list three ways and set off to question hotel staff before reconvening back in Gibbs’ and Tony’s room after 1700.

           

* * *

 

            “Jeez.” Abby said, dropping dramatically onto Tony’s bed a few hours later. “Not one person on my list still works here!”

            “I spoke with the hotel manager.” Ducky said, folding his own list neatly and placing it in a pocket. “He doesn’t remember seeing Mei-Lien, or Lewis and Daljeet, but he remembers hearing about the body in Arlington.”

            “We didn’t finish.” Tony mumbled, staring at the sheet of names he and Gibbs were working on. “Still have a few people on the janitorial staff who may know something.”

            “We can ask around again tomorrow morning.” Ducky said. “This will take a few days anyway. People’s shifts change.” He gestured to his list. “Many of the employees simply aren’t working today.”

             “Well, I don’t know about you guys.” Abby said. “But I’m starving.” She clutched her stomach mournfully.

            “Why don’t we try that restaurant in the lobby?” Ducky suggested.

            “Oh—yeah! Let’s go!” Abby turned to Gibbs, pleading with her eyes.

            “Abbs…” He rubbed a hand over his face. They knew Gibbs had a certain repulsion for public areas ever since the slave laws came about. Eating a meal while his friends knelt like dogs made him want to punch things.

            “Gibbs it’s been forever.” She said. “How often do we get to go on quasi-vacation like this?”

            “It’s free.” Tony added. “If Ching-Lan’s paying…”

            Gibbs glanced up at his hopeful team. “Alright.” He said, then promptly staggered under the hug Abby gave him. “It shouldn’t be crowded in the off-season…we’ll meet down there in fifteen minutes.” Abby ran happily back to her room with Ducky following, amused at her enthusiasm. “I,” Gibbs beckoned Tony forward and undid the leash, “am going to shower.” He paused, watching Tony glance around the room, clearly unsure of what to do now. “You can watch TV if ya want, Tony.”

            Tony grinned. “Thanks, boss.” 

            Gibbs put the leash on the desk and grabbed a few things from his bag and shut himself into the bathroom.

            Tony grabbed the TV remote and stretched out on his bed, flipping the flat screen on. His eyes lit up at the incredible amount of choices that lay at his fingertips. The Sundance channel, IFC, Turner Classic, 5 HBOs, Showtime, Starz. Tony scrolled through the list while an infomercial for the resort played in the background. He selected a channel that seemed to be running old TV shows and scrolled through the nights’ programming. _Gilligan’s Island, Dick van Dyke, Bob Newhart_ …Tony froze, his mouth falling in delight.

            Magnum! _Two_ episodes!

            He glanced frantically at the clock. It was 1732 right now. He looked at the TV. Magnum was on at 2000. Tony grinned. They could eat dinner in two and a half hours—plenty of time to get back here and watch. Gibbs would let him watch, right? The grin faded and he sighed. Of course Gibbs would let him…he had no reason to say no. Did he have any reason to reward Tony though? He’d been doing everything Gibbs said. Gibbs had been giving him tasks during the day, basically having him navigate the hotel and find everyone. Tony hated to admit that it felt…well, kinda relaxing to have Gibbs tell him what to do. To give him control. It felt _right._ It reminded him of when they worked cases together. When Gibbs would holler at him to find this or don’t do that. Just like old times. He fingered his collar. Kinda.

            Maybe if he was really good at dinner Gibbs would let him watch at least one episode. Tony grinned and flipped to _Pirates of the Caribbean_. It was still on when Gibbs came out of the bathroom.

            “You ready?”

            “Yes boss!” Tony flipped off the TV and saluted. Gibbs raised a brow and Tony grinned. Gibbs clipped the leash onto his collar, rolling his eyes. They left and locked the room and Gibbs handed Tony a copy of the keycard. He slid it into his jeans as they started walking. Tony was careful to keep a perfect ‘at heel’ position, just slightly behind the other man, letting the leash hang slack. He was going to do whatever it took to watch _Magnum_.

 


	11. Dinnertime

            They descended in the glass elevator, floating silently into the lobby. It was more crowded now. People sat in the leather chairs, reading or talking or ordering drinks from the bar. A few slaves were kneeling silently beside their seated owners and one or two were sitting in chairs like free people. Tony relaxed at the sight. There were plenty of fancy places that had rules that made a stark distinction between owners and slaves. Depending on the place—be it hotel, restaurant, store, or even the enforcement of local laws of towns—slaves may not be allowed to sit on chairs, or even appear at their master’s side. Oftentimes slaves had to be chained tightly as well, to ensure their obedience and safety in public areas. No wonder Gibbs didn’t like going out much.

            The restaurant, _The Copper Kettle_ , unfortunately wasn’t as lax in its rules as the lobby. Tony and Abby exchanged a look at the prominent sign proclaiming:   _All_ _slaves must be collared, leashed, and on the floor at all times_. _No exceptions._

            “If you guys want to go somewhere else, that’s fine by me.” Gibbs said to Abby and Tony, glaring at the sign.

            Abby shrugged at Tony. “I don’t really care. And I’m really hungry.”

            Tony nodded and looked to Gibbs. “It’s fine with us.”

            “Fine.” Gibbs turned to the host, a tall man with an upturned nose and dark hair.

            “Two?” The man asked, looking at Gibbs and Ducky.

            “Four.” Gibbs growled. The host looked over Tony and Abby with a sniff and led them to a table that could seat two people. Ducky and Gibbs sat stiffly across from each other. Abby dropped down next to Ducky while Tony knelt beside Gibbs. The carpet was thick, but it had worn patches beside all the chairs. The host handed them two menus and outlined the specials before disappearing with the promise that their waitress would be by soon. Gibbs hooked Tony’s leash into a clasp under his chair. Ducky did the same with Abby’s.

            “Do you have enough room, Tony?”

            “Yeah boss. Thanks.” Tony adjusted his feet under him and looked around the room. It was tough to see from where he was, but the place appeared to be less than half full. A big table in one corner contained about ten people laughing and being loud. It looked like some kind of business meeting. Other tables held couples or families and pretty much everyone seated had a slave at their feet, collared and tied. All the people here were able to afford having their own slaves. A couple slaves present were clearly close to the people who owned them, and they were included in conversations and even given food. Tony smiled a little at the sight of the happy slaves, reassured that not every owner—other than Gibbs and Ducky—was an asshole. A blonde woman a few tables away caught Tony’s eye. She gave him a demure smile and a wink. Tony grimaced slightly. Her red lips were botoxed to hell and the amount of makeup she had on gave her a raccoon-like, clownish appearance. She actually might have been attractive without all that gunk on her face.  A young male slave was at her feet, broad-shouldered and dressed in short shorts and a sleeveless shirt. Tony looked away. They were a perfect tableau of his second owner, Morgan, and her menagerie of handsome male slaves she liked to treat as objects. That was _not_ something he wanted to think about now. Or ever, for that matter.

            The waitress showed up and asked for their drink orders.

            “Can we have two more menus?” Ducky asked.

            “Uh, sure.” The waitress disappeared momentarily and returned with two menus, which she handed to Ducky. He passed them on to Abby and Tony.

            “I’ll have a Scotch.” Ducky said.

            “Ginger Ale.” Gibbs peered over the choices.

            Abby looked up. “Can I get raspberry lemonade, Gibbs?”

            “Of course.” Gibbs said. Tony glanced up at him.

            “Coke.”

            “You guys order whatever food you want.” Gibbs said as she walked away. They read over the menus in silence. Tony could still feel the blonde woman’s eyes on him. No doubt sizing him up and judging him. He’d been used to the feeling of women’s eyes on him since he was in college. Being blessed with good bone structure and a killer smile was fun when he was freedom-loving bachelor, but slavery had kind of ruined all that. Free women—and some men—sized him up now not as a mate or one night stand, but as a potential plaything to buy and own, something he didn’t think he’d ever get used to. With Gibbs holding his leash he wouldn’t ever have to get used to it. But if they didn’t solve this case…if she took them back…Tony couldn’t even bear the thought.

             He focused his attention on the menu. They had everything from cheeseburgers to salads to filet mignon to fish. Not to mention a three page wine section. Tony’s mouth watered and he slid from his knees to a less constricting cross-legged position, sighing dramatically.

            “Hm?” Gibbs looked down.

            “Lots of choices.”

            “Tony, can I make a suggestion?” Ducky said. “You might want to stick with something light tonight, seeing as your stomach is still adjusting to a new diet, dear boy.”

            “Yeah. I hear ya, Ducky. As delicious as the bacon barbecue double cheeseburger sounds, I _really_ don’t want to spend tonight in the head.”

            “Me neither.” Gibbs grunted. “Not with us sharing a room.”

            The waitress came back with the four drinks. She placed them on the table and took their food orders.

            “Is there any way we could get some cushions for them?” Gibbs nodded towards Tony and Abby.

            “Of course.” The girl left and came back with two plush burgundy floor mats. Tony and Abby sat on them gratefully and sipped their drinks.  They were making small talk about the rooms and the hotel in general when a shadow fell across Tony’s half-empty coke glass. He glanced up and almost swore when he saw the blonde woman from the other table standing beside him, giving Gibbs a dazzling smile. Her barely-clothed slave boy was behind her, leashed with a thin chain and staring at the floor.

            “Excuse me.” She said. Ducky stopped his story about African cuisine and looked politely up at the woman.

            Gibbs raised his eyebrows at her.

            “My name is Justine Bergman.” She tossed a card down on the table. No one looked at it. “Are you the owner of this slave?” She pointed at Tony as if he were a pair of shoes she wanted to try on.

            “Yes.” Gibbs said.

            “Are you by any chance looking to sell?” She asked pleasantly.

            Tony lowered his drink and shut his eyes, his face flushing with humiliation. Did she really have to approach them here, now? With other people around and everyone watching—Jeez—in front of Abby and Ducky? Tony snuck a glance at Abby. She rolled her eyes and he grinned.

            “No.” Gibbs said in a controlled tone.

            “Are you sure?” She said. “He’s quite fine. I’d give you a good price for him—much more than he’s worth.”

            “Madam,” Ducky began. “What you’re doing is very rude. We are trying to enjoy a peaceful dinner.” Tony rubbed his head, the way he always did when he was nervous. Abby reached forward and squeezed his hand.

            “DiNozzo.” Gibbs said. Tony looked up at him immediately. “Do you want to be sold to her?”

            “No, boss. No.” Tony shook his head.

            “There’s your answer, miss.” Gibbs said flippantly. “Now be on your way.” The woman made a little sound of disapproval in her throat and looked down on Tony, who was now giggling at a comment Abby made.

            “If you reconsider, my number’s on the card.” She said snidely before tugging her boy away by his short chain.

            “Damn.” Tony hissed after a minute. “That’s embarrassing…”

            He fell silent as Gibbs rested a hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. Tony relaxed somewhat at the gesture but still, he didn’t know what to think.  He was pissed and embarrassed at the woman for doing this to him—in such a public place. He even felt somewhat wrong-footed, like he had done something bad to garner Justine’s attention. He didn’t know why he felt that way, and that made him even more anxious and annoyed. Should he have stood up for himself? That would have made him not look so weak. But he was a slave. Had he spoken rudely to her, he could have been punished for an insolent tongue—hell knows he had been plenty of times in the past. When the food finally came he wasn’t hungry, having worked himself into a knot of despair so tight that couldn’t even think about food.

            “Tony.” Gibbs leaned down as Tony was surveying his baked chicken breast. “Are you okay?”

            “M’fine.” Tony muttered.

            “We can go back to the room if you want. We can leave.” Again there was the soft touch from those hands that calmed him better than any words could. He glanced up at Abby, thoroughly enjoying her salad as she laughed at another of Ducky’s Africa stories. It would be really shitty of him to pull them away now. Not when Abby was enjoying herself, and not after everything she had done for him.

            “No, it’s fine, boss.” Tony said. Gibbs sighed and leaned away from him. Tony pushed his food around, eating some but mostly just staring at it. Gibbs insisted on a take-out box before he paid the bill with the credit card Ching-Lan had given him.

            “Thank you, Gibbs.” Abby hugged him in the hallway between their doors after Gibbs let Tony inside.

            “You’re welcome, Abbs.” He unclipped her leash and handed it to her before giving her a good-night kiss on the cheek. He made sure she was safely locked into her room before turning to face his other slave. Gibbs paused and took a breath. He’d done what Ducky said. Tried to, anyway. And weirdly enough, it had seemed to work. Tony was chipper and making jokes all while they combed the hotel for employees. Even that goofy salute before dinner was a good sign. Maybe Ducky had been right about giving Tony commands and treating him like a senior agent instead of a slave.

             Gibbs locked and bolted the door behind him and glanced at his watch. 1942. Dinner had taken longer than he expected. He walked away from the door and paused at the sight of the two empty beds. The head was empty as well. A quick glance around the room didn’t reveal his old senior agent either. “Tony?” He said.  Gibbs walked a little ways and sighed when he saw Tony at the side of his bed, kneeling on the floor with his nose pressed firmly into the carpet. Gibbs’ shoulders sagged. Now what?

            He sank onto the pillow-top mattress and pulled off his shoes. He pushed them to the side and stared down at his friend for a moment.

            “That _can’t_ smell good.” He said. Tony shifted a little and Gibbs thought he saw a tiny smile. “Kneel up.” Gibbs said. “Let me take the leash and collar off.”

            “The collar?” Tony said softly, rising. “You gonna sell me to that woman, Gibbs?”

            Gibbs felt stricken for a moment, then cursed himself. “No. No—leave it on.” Gibbs took off the leash and coiled it up, placing it on his nightstand. He watched Tony glance at the clock. It read 1949.

            “Tired?” Gibbs asked.

            Tony shrugged. “A little.”

            “Tony.” Gibbs sighed. He leaned down so he was eye level with his friend, giving him a look that he hoped would invite conversation. “Was it the woman in the restaurant?” He said.

            Tony blinked. “Yeah.”

            That and the turmoil of being Gibbs’ slave while not really being treated as a slave at all.

            How pathetic he felt about being chained, literally, to Gibbs all the time while Abby and Ducky got to go free.

            How he felt like crap for feeling so weak _because_ he felt these things. He pushed the thoughts aside and spoke.

            “I was kind of embarrassed, boss.”

            “Yeah, so was I. She had some nerve.”

Tony’s eyes had drifted away again and Gibbs took Tony’s chin firmly in his hand and turned his head to face him. “Don’t worry about her, DiNozzo. You really think I’d sell you?”

            “No, boss. I know you won’t.”

            “Good.”

            Tony gave him a little half grin and stood up. He glanced at the clock again and sighed.

            “I can sleep on the floor if you want.” He said quietly.

            “What? No. No one’s sleeping on the floor. Unless it’s more comfortable for you,” Gibbs said, remembering how Tony had slept on the floor with Abby until he could stand being in his bed. Tony nodded and peered quickly at the TV, which was currently turned off. Gibbs saw a look of longing pass over his face before he looked away again.

            “Tony. You can watch TV.”

            “Really?”

            “Yes. Christ.” Gibbs tossed him the remote and rolled his eyes, then stopped himself. Ducky’s words echoed in his head. _“He’s searching for leadership. You can offer him rules and discipline in a safe, caring environment…Give him some basic commands.”_

            “But,” Tony continued, “I didn’t finish with the list of employees.”

            “We’ll get it tomorrow.”

            “I was speaking out of turn at the restaurant…” Tony said, unsure.

            “DiNozzo, do you want me give you a headslap?”

            “Not really, boss.”

            “Watch, but don’t stay up past midnight.” Gibbs added. “We gotta be fresh for tomorrow. If you get hungry, there’s the leftovers from dinner.”

            Tony nodded happily. “Thanks, Gibbs.”

            Gibbs nodded and went to the bathroom to wash up. He heard Tony flip the TV on, then the tinny strains of the _Magnum P.I._ theme song. Gibbs laughed aloud.


	12. Attack!

“DiNozzo!”

            The voice sounded weird, and very far away, but pleasantly familiar—if not rather annoyed.

            “…Mnph…” Tony answered.

            “Hey, Tony!”

            The voice was louder, getting closer and closer…Tony jumped awake as a pillow made contact with his face.

            “Get up.” Gibbs muttered. He was standing outside the bathroom, adjusting a shirt sleeve. Warm white light filtered through the semi-sheer curtains on the windows and sliding door.

            “Five more minutes, boss…”

Gibbs watched Tony roll over into the warm sheets, stuffing the new pillow under his head. _And here I was worried he may have trouble sleeping in the bed…_

            “No.” Gibbs marched over and yanked the covers from Tony’s body. “Get up. We have work to do.”

            Aware that he’d lost the argument, Tony sat up. A glance at the clock made him groan again. 0700. He rubbed his eyes before grabbing a few items from his bag and heading for the shower. Fifteen minutes later they were outside the room, ready to interview. Tony was looking over the employee list while Gibbs pulled the door shut and tested it to make sure it was locked. He placed the ‘do not disturb’ sign out, deciding he didn’t want anyone poking around and finding anything on the case. Satisfied, Gibbs clipped the black leather leash to Tony’s collar and started walking, unaware that Tony was still oblivious and reading the list. The leash tugged harshly at his throat and Tony let out a squawk of surprise.

            “Sorry, master—coming, master!” He yelped. He quickly fell into step behind his boss. Gibbs stopped immediately.

            “Shit, DiNozzo.” Gibbs turned back, looking at Tony’s throat with a worried frown on his face.

            “I’m fine.” Tony said in a soft voice, allowing Gibbs to examine his neck. There were no marks—Gibbs hadn’t tugged him all that hard.

            Gibbs shook his head and Tony knew from the expression on his face that Gibbs was mentally cussing himself out.

            “It’s okay, Gibbs. Really.” Tony smiled. “Worse things have been done to me.”

            Gibbs frowned and muttered something. Tony thought he caught the words ‘bastard masters.’ They continued walking towards the elevator and Gibbs made sure to leave lots of slack in the lead.

            They were waved behind the desk, and Gibbs went to a thick wood door at the end of a hallway behind the main desk. He knocked politely and waited. The hotel manager answered moments later.

            “Ah, Mr. Gibbs.” He gestured them inside. The office was nicely furnished, and seemed to be the only room at the hotel that wasn’t themed like an arctic wonderland. A desk sat in front of a window, and a small conference table of sorts was on one side of the room surrounded by four cushioned chairs. “You’re here for more interviews?” The manager asked.

            “Yeah, six more people.” Gibbs glanced at Tony and Tony handed over the list. The last few names on the list were for six members of the janitorial staff.

            “Hmm…” The manager looked at the names. “This can be arranged.” He radioed the head janitor. They spoke briefly before the man hung up. “They will each be here shortly. Do you require anything?”

            Gibbs caught Tony’s eye. He pointed to a spot on the floor next to one of the chairs at the conference table. “Kneel there, please.” Tony nodded and took the end of his leash, then obediently knelt in the indicated spot. He placed the leash loop in a hook on the chair at his left and went perfectly still, back straight and head down.

            “No. We’re fine.” Gibbs said to the manager. The man looked over Tony with an approving glance.

            “He’s well-trained.”

            “And as loyal as a Saint Bernard.” Gibbs answered.

            The manager wished him luck and left. Tony waited until the door clicked closed before standing up.

            “Jeez, that guy was eager to please.” Tony said, wandering around the comfortable area. Gibbs tossed a notebook onto the table and a couple pens, then sat down.

            “He doesn’t want to piss us off. Afraid we’ll complain to Ching-Lan.”

            “Uh, boss?” Tony said.

            Gibbs looked at him expectantly.

            “Where do you want me?”

            Gibbs frowned.

            “I mean, should I kneel the whole time, or…”

            “Sit at the table with us, DiNozzo. I had you kneel just for show—we definitely don’t want to give that guy a reason to restrict us from anywhere.”

            Tony nodded and sat beside his boss. Gibbs undid the leash and coiled it in his pocket.

            A few minutes later, a short Mexican man knocked and entered the room when bidden. He was older, definitely not a slave. He had jeans and a waterstained navy polo on with his name embroidered in the corner. He glanced from Gibbs to Tony, his eyes lingering briefly on Tony’s silver collar. Gibbs took a notebook and pen and gestured to a chair, inviting him to sit down. The man did so. Gibbs took a deep breath, about to launch into some very broken Spanish. But then Tony swooped in. He introduced Gibbs, then himself, then asked the man his name, all in perfect, smooth Spanish. The man seemed to relax significantly as Tony bubbled along, rattling off names and dates and checking facts on some sheets Abby had printed out. Gibbs only caught about every twelfth word, but he was too thrilled to even care. He had completely forgotten Tony spoke Spanish. He leaned back in his chair, more than happy to let Tony take over. The conversation wound down not long later, and Tony was soon saying goodbye. He left and Gibbs turned his attention to Tony, intent on handing out some much-deserved praise.

            “Boss, I’m sorry.” Tony said quickly. “I know—I should’ve asked your permission before just taking over like that.”

            “DiNozzo,” The headslap he gave the younger man was almost instinctive.  “You’re doing a great job. I’m proud of you. Keep it up, take over.”

            Tony looked dumbstruck at the flow of kind words as well as the unexpected slap. His mouth hung open. He closed it. A smile broke across his face just as the next employee came in.

            Tony kept up the great interviews, asking questions and jotting answers for the next four people. They were all free people, and a few were clearly surprised that Gibbs was allowing Tony to take control so readily. He spoke confidently, either in English or Spanish, and put the interviewees at ease, getting information from them quickly. After the fifth woman left Tony sighed.

            “None of them remember anything, boss.” He grumbled. There was one name left on the list. “It’s one huge dead-end!”

            “Sh.” Gibbs said. “You can’t say that yet. We still have…” he looked at the list, “Ms. Consuelo.” As if on cue, a curly-haired, dumpy woman knocked and entered. She smiled at Gibbs and sat down. Tony ran through his usual questions. He showed her the photos and the told her the names.  She paused, and then tapped the picture, nodding at Tony. Gibbs didn’t need to speak the language to understand that she knew what Tony was talking about. Tony said something excitedly. She nodded and answered. They continued like this for a little while until she gave Tony a name and room number, which he wrote down quickly. He was all smiles as he escorted her to the door, thanking her over and over. She laughed and waved him off and Tony shut the door behind her.

            “Boss! She remembers!”

            “I figured.” Gibbs said with a slight grin.

            “She gave me this guy’s name—he works for security, in charge of the surveillance tapes for the resort. She remembers seeing Mei-Lien and Co. when they last stayed here—.” Gibbs took the notebook from him and glanced over the notes as Tony explained. “She said she remembers because the sight of a white woman, an Indian man, and a little Chinese girl together was pretty uncommon.”

            Gibbs nodded, agreeing.

            “But get this.” Tony said. “Apparently, one night, she was cleaning out a vacated room and she heard yelling. She went out to see what it was, and sure enough, it was coming from the room where Mei-Lien was staying. She said it was a man’s voice mostly—yelling, banging things. A woman was also yelling—something about el dinero.” Gibbs’ eyebrows went up.

            “Money.” Tony clarified. “My guess,” He grinned, rocking back on his heels, “is Daljeet and Lewis had a little argument.”

            Gibbs smiled and ruffled Tony’s hair playfully. He looked down at the written security guard’s name: Homer McMurtry.

            “Good job, DiNozzo. Good job.”

            Tony grinned at the praise.

                       

* * *

 

            Gibbs pulled out his cell phone and dialed Abby, while Tony called Ducky. Five minutes later everyone was in the lobby. Tony was aware of Gibbs briefing them on the newly-found details, but he was still on the mini high of having a master—especially Gibbs—tell him how happy he was with his good behavior.

            “Alright, DiNozzo.” Gibbs handed Tony a slip of paper with the surveillance room number on it. “You got the info from Consuelo, so I want you to interview McMurtry too.”

            Tony nodded in delight and took the paper. The room was in the basement, through the north stairwell.           

            “You have your phone?” Gibbs asked.

            Tony held it up.

            “Okay. We’ll be piecing it together in one of the rooms, so call when you’ve finished.” Gibbs unclipped the leash and Tony ran off towards the stairs at the back of the hotel.

            Finally they were getting somewhere! They may have a hope of solving this case after all. Then Ching-Lan wouldn’t have any reason to take him away. Tony wound around through the long halls of doorways. He came up to a wide glass door that led outside to a courtyard in the center of the hotel. A terrace with padded blue lounge chairs and a large outdoor pool occupied the courtyard and Tony paused. He knew the stairs he needed were on the opposite side of the hotel. Cutting through the terrace would save some time. He tucked the paper into his pocket and pushed through the glass door. The pool was empty of people and the aqua water shimmered in the sunlight. It was a cool day, too cold to swim. The sun was warm though, and all the deck chairs were empty. Tony scooted past the chairs, winding his way around to the door.

            “Well, well.”

            He froze. Justine Bergman was reclining on a chair with a hardcover book in her lap. Her man-made boobs were stuffed into a pink bikini top, the lower piece of which was barely a step above thong. A muscular slave boy knelt at her arm. He wasn’t the one from the restaurant. This guy was much bigger.

            “What are _you_ doing out here?” She got up and dropped the book down before taking a step towards Tony.

            “I…um,”

            “Your big bad master never gave me a call. Is he around?” She glanced behind Tony and he winced, suddenly remembering that he was not supposed to be left unattended or unleashed. It had completely slipped his mind when Gibbs told him to go find McMurtry. Apparently it had slipped Gibbs’ mind as well.

            “Answer my question, slave.”

            “No.” Tony whispered. “He’s inside.”

            “Does he know you’re out here all by yourself?”

            “He sent me—”

            “He sent you to the pool all alone?” She asked, clearly surprised at the idea.

            “Well, no. But he did send me to—.”

            “So you’re disobeying him?” she said coyly. “What a bad boy.”

            Tony’s eyes narrowed. “I’m _not_ disobeying him.” He snapped. “He sent me out here. On an errand.”

            “You’re off your leash. There’s no freedom tags on your collar. And he’s not with you.” She said simply. Tony felt a pang of panic. “You’re a loose slave.”

            “No I’m not.” Tony said, briefly remembering the sketch pad guy from a few days ago. He hadn’t been collared then, but he sure as hell was now. “I belong to Gibbs.” He told her, feeling a small swell of safety and happiness.

             “You don’t have to. My offer still stands.” She reached up and stroked the side of his face. “I still want to buy you.” Tony jerked away from her touch. “Come to my room with me. I’ll have you begging to be at the end of my leash by the end of today.”

            “No.” Tony said firmly. He stepped back.

            “Yes.” She hissed. Her hand tightened around his collar and Tony pulled away again.

            “Get away from me.”  He growled. “I’m owned. I have a master. He’ll be pissed if you even come _near_ me.”

            “Oh, I think he’s probably pissed enough already that his slave has wandered off.”

            “He knows where I am you psychopath!” Tony practically yelled.

            She barked something at the kneeling slave and he rose.

            “You could have a good life with me. I travel all over the world and I bring my boys with me.” She gripped Tony’s collar again, harder.

            “I don’t care what you have—I’m not going anywhere with you.” Tony tried to tear out of her grasp and reach for his phone, but he flinched when the woman’s slave grabbed his arms behind his back.

            “She’s nuts!” Tony hissed to him. “Let me go!” He didn’t expect the guy to answer, and he didn’t. There was no way Tony could wrestle out of those huge arms. The woman motioned to the door and Tony was dragged towards them.

            “This is against the law!” He yelled to her. “I’m owned! I have a collar! You can’t do this!” She clamped her hand over his mouth and her eyes flashed dangerously.

            “Shut up or you’ll be gagged.” She smiled. “That would be a good look for you. That incessant mouth finally quieted.”

            Tony gulped, remembering a few weeks ago when Bronislav gagged him and locked him in the closet.  He remembered the fear of not knowing how long he’d be stuck in there, chained and tied and mute.

            The slave guy’s burly hands on his wrists were tighter than cuffs, and in a panic-induced burst of adrenaline, Tony lashed out. He slammed his head backwards, nailing Mr. Muscle in the nose. The guy snarled and let Tony go. At the same time Tony kicked out, getting a shot right in the shin of the blonde bimbo. She shrieked a curse and Tony took off running. He had to get back to the lobby—had to get back to Gibbs or Ducky. They were the only ones who could help him. He was slammed bodily into the wall and he saw stars. Mr. Muscle was back, his nose bloody, and he looked angry.

            “That was stupid.” The woman growled. “I can scream sexual assault. Do you know what they do to male slaves who sexually assault a free woman?”            

            Tony trembled, trapped again in the meaty hands of the big slave. He knew alright. The very best he could hope for was a hard whipping and a long stint of jail time. At the very worst, he’d be castrated or killed.

            “Bring me to my master and this will get settled.” Tony said, pushing those thoughts aside.

            “Cute.” She patted his cheek. “Just like you. But no, I don’t think that would work at all. I think you should spend a few nights in the cells. The hotel has some, did you know? In the basement. Built especially for spirited slaves like yourself.”

            Tony almost laughed. The basement. It seemed like days ago that he was trying to get there to talk to Homer about the case. Mr. Muscle tightened his grip and he was vaguely aware of being paraded down the hall and back towards the lobby. Maybe Gibbs was still there?

            He wasn’t. Nor were Ducky or Abby.

            The woman yelled at the hotel manager, pointing at Tony and drawing the disapproving glares of everyone present.

            “My master sent me—!” Tony’s defense was cut off when a security guard tied a gag firmly between his teeth. He struggled again, trying to break away, but really it was no use. The entire hotel staff was against him now, along with the crazy Bergman woman. He was handcuffed and lugged down to the basement. He groaned as they passed the surveillance room. It should have been so simple. They came upon a small cell at the end of the hall. It was grey, dirty, and stank like decay and old water. The guard hustled him in there and forced him to his knees on the gritty concrete before chaining his wrists to the wall above his head.

            “Give him a day or two to think things over.” The manager sniffed.

            Tony’s eyes widened. He turned his head, watching the manager hit the lights. Everything went totally black, then, footsteps disappearing. Tony leaned his forehead on the wall and growled around the gag. He tried to stop the memories, but it was too late…

           

_“Well, I gotta say, you are the most stubborn son of a bitch I have ever met.” Sutton stared at Tony, his meaty arms crossed over his chest. Tony stood as straight as he could, trembling. The ball gag between his teeth was tight and uncomfortable. Saliva dripped down his chin and puddled on the floor. The chains binding his wrists were cutting into the sensitive skin that was already scabbed from repeated mistreatment. Everything from his knees to his shoulders was aching, screaming from the man’s whip, but still Tony refused to kneel for him and take a leash. He’d never kneel for this man. Slave laws be damned, his legs would have to be broken before he knelt for anyone._

_“Stubborn, or stupid.” Sutton said. “You will break, boy. You realize that, right? You will be on this floor before the night is through.”_

            He was right, Tony thought miserably. Hours later, Sutton had given up with the beatings and just wrapped his leash around his throat, tying him to a ring bolted to the floor, forcing his knees to bend. Kind of like right now. Tony pulled on the bonds again, not surprised when they held fast. He tilted his head back and roared as loud as he could, his frustration and humiliation reaching a boiling point. If Ching-Lan heard about his little stint in jail, he could probably kiss Gibbs’ house goodbye forever whether they solved the case or not. His stomach twisted.  He wouldn’t be surprised. That couldn’t happen—he couldn’t let that happen. Gibbs and Abby and Ducky wouldn’t stand for it. He couldn’t go live with some new bastard master and take this crap all over again, not when his friends had found him and started treating him like a person again. 

           There was no answer to his roar, no one to even yell at him to shut up. Tony rested his head on the wall again, trying to find some sort of peace. One of them would get him out, he trusted Gibbs enough now to believe that. He just had to wait.

 


	13. Breakdown

            “Where the hell is DiNozzo?” Gibbs muttered. He grabbed is phone and called him for the sixth time in an hour. He flipped the phone shut in disgust when there was no answer.

            “Maybe the interview is taking longer than he thought.” Abby suggested. They were in Ducky’s room. It didn’t have a desk, but it had a couch and coffee table. The remains of a room-service late lunch littered the table. Abby was on the bed with her laptop as Gibbs paced the room like a caged animal.

            “An hour and a half?” Gibbs pointed out.

            Abby shrugged. “Maybe…he’s watching the surveillance tapes?”

            “What does your gut say, Jethro?” Ducky asked.

            “It’s telling me something’s wrong.” Gibbs muttered. “I’m going to the lobby.”

            “Wait! Let me come with you!” Abby yelped.

            “No. Stay.” Gibbs pointed at the bed and grabbed Tony’s leash, storming from the room. He took the stairs three floors down to the lobby and glanced around. He caught the manager speaking to someone near the front door. He stiffened when he saw Gibbs coming.

            “I had a slave with me,” Gibbs began, “the one who did the interviews with your staff.”  

            The manager nodded.

            “Where is he?”

            “He’s been incarcerated, sir.”

            “What!?”

            “He attacked a free person and is currently residing in our in-house cells.”

            Gibbs stood there, stunned.

            “Let me see him!” He roared finally.

            “Of course, sir.”

            A guard was called to escort him. Gibbs fumed the entire way to the basement. Attacked? That didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be true—and if it was, he knew Tony would have a damn good explanation. The security guard flipped on a light at the end of the hall. Gibbs saw Tony, chained to the wall on his knees, a gag tied too tight around his head. Gibbs exploded.

            “Get him out of there! What the hell kind of place is this?! Did you bastards not read his collar? He’s _my_ slave!”

            The security guard gulped and hastily opened the cell door. Gibbs yanked the keys from the guard’s hand.

            “Tony. Shit. I’m sorry.” Gibbs undid the cuffs and gag.

            “I’m sorry.” Tony whispered.

            “Nothin’ to be sorry for.” Gibbs squatted down beside him. “What happened?”

            “She—I—I attacked her, master.”

            “I heard. But why?”

            Tony stayed silent. Gibbs looked up at the guard who was watching them nervously, clearly unsure of what to do.

            “I’m taking him back to our room.” Gibbs said coldly.

            “Uh, the manager has to sign off on any prisoners getting released—.”

            “Then get him down here!” Gibbs barked.

            He scurried off, and Gibbs turned his attention back to Tony. He was trembling.

            “Tony.” Gibbs rested a hand on his head. “Who did you attack?”

            “The Bergman woman.”

            Gibbs smiled, though Tony didn’t see. He continued stroking his hair.

            “What happened?”

            “She…” Tony gulped. “She tried to take me—I told her I had a collar! She saw it!”

            “Sh…sh…”Gibbs soothed. “We’ll get this sorted out.”

            The manager returned, looking annoyed and rushed. Gibbs got off the floor and got into his face.

            “I’m taking him back to my room.”

            “I’m afraid you can’t do that, Mr. Gibbs.” The manager said.

            “Why the hell not?”

            “He broke not only the hotel’s rules, but a law as well. He attacked a free person and I’m commanding that he be punished for his actions.”

            Gibbs got into the manager’s face and stared down at him, boring into the guy’s brown eyes with his icy blue ones.

            “You will release him to me.”

            “Sir,” the manager swallowed, “he broke the rules. He’s a loose cannon.”

            “You know that’s not true.” Gibbs said in a softer tone. “You saw him with me this morning in your office. He was fine. Docile and obedient, just like a good slave should be.”

             The manager paused, considering.

            “He obeys my every word.” Gibbs growled. “He was defending himself against that woman because she was trying to take him as her own—steal him from me. She broke a law by trying to steal my property.”

            “But he attacked her.” The manager almost whined. Gibbs continued staring at him and the man straightened. “Fine.” He said. “Take him back to your room and punish him accordingly. You may be running an investigation, but I’m running a business. Our patrons expect a certain level of security. Deal with him, Gibbs.” The man hissed, “or I may have to place a call to a certain laoban.”

            Gibbs’ jaw tightened. A call to Ching-Lan would only mean that Tony would get taken away. Not an option.

             “Also, I want him on a short leash for the rest of your stay. He doesn’t leave your room without you—only you, not the doctor—holding his leash, got it?”

            Gibbs nodded.

            “No more sending him off gallivanting after leads. You have my permission to investigate this case as you need to, Gibbs, but if something like this happens again, you won’t be able to protect him.”

            “It won’t.” Gibbs said in as polite a tone as he could muster. He watched as the manager paced down the hallway and disappeared. “Tony.” He said, schooling his voice. “Come on, we’re going back to the room now.” Tony got up and Gibbs clipped the leash to his collar, pausing when Tony wouldn’t look him in the eye.

            “DiNozzo.” Gibbs said patiently. He felt a burst of exasperation. He hated feeling so damn helpless. “You’re safe now.”

            “The punishment?” He mumbled.

            “Aw hell, Tony. There won’t be any. I’m sure whatever happened wasn’t your fault. That bitch provoked you, am I right?”

            Tony nodded.

            “Then what happened?” Gibbs pressed.

            “I defended myself.”

            “Good.” Gibbs said. “I’m glad you defended yourself.”

            Tony took a deep breath, finally gathering the courage to look Gibbs in the eye.

            “Guess she was mad you wouldn’t sell me.” Tony said with a hint of humor.

            Gibbs snorted. “We have food in Ducky’s room. He’s worried about you. Abby is too.” That seemed to help. Tony nodded bravely and followed his master back up to the room.

           

* * *

 

            “Ah. There you are Anthony.” Ducky said as they entered. “We were beginning to worry…” 

            “What happened?” Abby said, her eyes wide. Gibbs flashed hera glare but said nothing. He unclipped Tony’s leash and threw it savagely onto the coffee table. Ducky got up and took Gibbs by the arm, leading him to a corner.

            “What happened, Jethro?” He asked patiently. Gibbs watched Abby creep up to Tony and envelope him in a hug.

            “He was in the house cells.”

            “Goodness, why?”

            “Justine Bergman.” Gibbs spat. “She provoked him and he attacked her.”

            “Attacked?” Ducky breathed.

            “Yeah. I don’t know how badly. Couldn’t have been too bad if the manager released him into my custody. He told me to punish Tony, but screw him. Tony’s never gonna get another punishment. We’re just gonna go on with this case like nothing happened.”

            “Good man.”

            Gibbs looked at Tony and Abby on the opposite side of the room, hugging. He imagined what would happen if Tony got yanked again from their lives. He couldn’t let that happen. Abby had shed enough tears over their friend.  “There’s more at stake here than just Ching-Lan’s sister.” Gibbs said.

           

* * *

 

            “We still need to get that interview from McMurtry.” Gibbs said to Ducky. “I want to get the hell out of here as fast as we can. The manager’s got Tony on a short leash, he can’t go anywhere I’m not. Except for our room.” Gibbs shook his head. “That was stupid of me. I forgot he can’t go around like Abby since he doesn’t have those green and yellow tags.”

            “He’ll forgive you, Jethro.”

             Gibbs nodded and Ducky stepped aside. Abby was talking quietly to Tony, and he seemed much more relaxed. Gibbs walked over to them.

            “Hi Gibbs.” Abby gave him a hug.

            “Hi Abby.”

            “You okay?” She asked.

            “I’m fine. Tony.” He schooled his voice into a business-like tone. “Break’s over, we gotta get that interview.”

            “You’ll let me?” Tony said, perking up.

            “Of course. You got the tip-off from Consuelo. You should get McMurtry’s interview. I’m not changing my mind about that.”

            Tony grinned, his whole face brightening. “Really boss?”

            “Keep asking me about it and I might change my mind, DiNozzo.” Gibbs said dryly.

            “Oh. Sure, boss. Shutting up, boss.”

 

* * *

 

            They went back to the basement. Gibbs made sure Tony’s leash was wrapped firmly in his hand as they walked through the halls and down the stairs. Tony followed him with a perfect ‘at heel’ for every step until they came to the room. Gibbs gave Tony a reassuring grin before knocking on the door labeled ‘surveillance.’

            A pudgy, pasty man with small glasses and a confused look on his face answered the door.

            “Are you Homer McMurtry?” Gibbs asked.  He could almost feel DiNozzo itching to make some smart comment.

            “Uh, yeah.” The guy reached up to scratch his head. “Wass’ going on? Who’re you?”

            Gibbs introduced himself, then Tony. The room itself was miniscule and filled to the brim with wires, tapes, VCRs, DVD players, old soda cans, and plenty of other bits of junk and garbage. There was barely enough room for one person to sit in here comfortably, much less three. Homer pushed a few pizza boxes off some folding chairs and they all sat down in the tiny space. Gibbs gestured for Tony to ask the first question. Tony clicked his pen importantly and tapped it on the notebook page.

            “So, Doctor McMurtry. We need to see the videotapes dated between January sixth and January eleventh of this year.”

            “Uh, okay. Which part of the hotel do you need?”

            “All of ‘em.” Tony said.

            “All?”

            “Yep.”

            “But, that’s like over a hundred hours of video.” Homer scratched himself, trying to wrap his round head around the idea of anyone wanting those tapes.

            “Well, we need to watch every minute.”

            “Oh. Okay.” Homer got up and turned around, bending down into a filing cabinet. Tony made a face as the man’s wide ass invaded his personal space. “I have it somewhere…” Homer leaned back and Tony nearly fell off his chair. Gibbs looked like he was trying very hard not to bust out laughing. “Here.” Homer stood and handed Tony some DVDs that were stacked in a container and surprisingly very neatly labeled.

            “Thank you.” Tony said. Gibbs asked if Homer had seen Mei-Lien or either of her keepers, just for good measure. Homer said no.

            They went back to their shared room and Tony dumped the DVDs on the desk.

            “Over a hundred hours! No kidding.” Tony said, eyeing the shiny disks.

            Gibbs divided the stack and passed two smaller piles to Abby and Ducky. They all had DVD players in their rooms, and for the next few hours the group spent the time watching the world’s most boring reality TV.

            “The outdoor pool?” Tony said after two hours. “Really, boss? It was January—the pool wasn’t even open.” He saw the glare in Gibbs’ eyes get steadily darker. Tony switched tactics. “Which is why it’s a good place to hide things.” He grumbled. “Like large sums of money that may have been argued about in a hotel room.” Gibbs gave him a nod and they watched.

            At 1700 Gibbs rubbed his eyes.

            “I think it’s time for a break.”

            “Uh-huh. The glaze on my eyes has a glaze.” Tony’s stomach let out a long rumble.

            “We’ll fix that first. What do you want to eat?”

            “Oh…uh…”

            “Pizza?” Gibbs suggested. Tony brightened.

            “Really?”

            “Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. How’s your stomach?”

            “It’s getting better boss. I can definitely eat real food. Maybe not as much as I used to, but…”

            “Good. We can drive around, try and find some little hole in the wall place. I don’t know about you, but I want to get the hell out of this room.”

            Tony nodded quickly.

            Ducky and Abby agreed that pizza sounded wonderful and they were soon driving away from the hotel lot, the concierge having helpfully given them the names of a few pizza places nearby. They decided to skip the bigger names, instead trying out a little dive off the highway. Tony declared after the first bite that it was the best pizza he’d ever had. They ate well and returned to the hotel lobby, each of them returning to their rooms to pore over more videos.

            Gibbs settled on the bed and hit the play button, but found he could hardly concentrate. Tony was on the other bed, watching, but looking just as distracted. He fiddled anxiously with his collar, his fingers running over the buckle. Gibbs didn’t blame him for being distracted. Tony was going through a lot of crap right now. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for him in the cell, tied and waiting. How many times had that happened without Tony knowing when or if he was going to get released?

            Tony got up just then and came to his side. He knelt on the floor right beside Gibbs’ leg, his head down submissively.

            “Hey, DiNozzo.” Gibbs paused the tape and looked down at his former agent, a bit alarmed at the new puppy-like behavior.  

            “Bronislav,” Tony began. “He had a couple GSM’s. He kept ‘em in the back of his closet in a box. One day, when I was cleaning, I came across them.” Tony opened his eyes and stared up at Gibbs. “You know me.” He said with a grin. “I took one and opened it, and Ms. Elle Liberachi looked back—amazing body.” Tony let out a low whistle. “Just gorgeous. Curves, tight ass…anyway. I was looking at it, after having spent all frickin’ day cooking lunch for his kids, washing his car, scrubbing the toilets, and generally being a slave, and I swear, for about two seconds I felt normal. Looking at that magazine brought me back to the office for just a second.” He caught Gibbs’ eye. “Not that I read GSM at the office all that very often, boss. Definitely not when there was work to be done.”

            Gibbs rolled his eyes.

            “But I felt normal, if only for a minute. It was weird how many memories a stupid girly-mag brought back. Then he caught me reading.”

            Tony lifted his head of Gibbs’ knee and pulled up the back of his shirt. “See those two scars under my right shoulder blade?”        

            Gibbs gulped down a growl and nodded.

            “After he caught me reading, he tied me down and gave me a strapping that I got nightmares about for a week.”

            Gibbs took a deep breath, feeling a physical ache from what he’d heard. “That won’t be happening again, DiNozzo. Never.”

            “Good to know, boss.” Tony got up and stretched. Then he went to his bag and rummaged. “I’m gonna shower. I smell like cell. You mind?”

            “Nope.” Gibbs rubbed his forehead as Tony disappeared into the bathroom. Dammit. He wished he had some bourbon. He knew people could be sick. Working at NCIS for as long as he had taught him that. Something about hearing those dark stories so casually from his friend’s mouth made him squirm inside. Shaking it off, he returned to the DVDs, hoping to find more clues. There was no way he could go back to a master like that. Not while he was alive to stop it.

             Seconds later, a frantic knock on the door drew Gibbs away from the video. He twisted the knob, only to be nearly bowled over by Abby.

            “Guys! You’ll never guess what I saw.”

            “Somethin’ on the DVD, Abbs?” He said, noticing she was holding a disk.

            “Good guess.” She stuck it in the player and fast- forwarded through the grainy images. “I was watching the surveillance for the bunny hill ski rental desk, and look…” she found the correct place on the DVD and played it. A dark-skinned man stepped up to the counter and was speaking to the employee. A similar-looking man was beside him, and at their side, a young girl with black hair bounced up and down excitedly.

            “Daljeet and Mei-Lien.” Abby pronounced. “I double-checked their photos. It’s them.”

            “And who’s that?” Gibbs pointed at the third Indian man.

            “I don’t know.” Abby said. “Someone we don’t know about? Maybe the kidnapper or an accomplice?”

            “That’s a good catch, Abbs.”

            “This tape is dated the eighth, just three days before Daljeet’s body turned up in Arlington.”

            “Abby,” Gibbs said after processing this for a moment. “Bring me those profiles on Daljeet and Lewis again. I want to see something.”

 

* * *

 

            Tony reached for a towel and turned on the water, letting it run and warm up before taking the plunge. He clutched the plush fabric, staring idly at the water as it bubbled around the drain and was swallowed down. A familiar pressure built in his throat and eyes and he took a deep breath, willing the coming tears away. It didn’t really help. Tony put the towel on the counter top and paused a moment, letting the sounds of the water wash over him.

            He gripped the towel. “DiNozzos do not fucking cry…” The tears surprised him as much as the admission to Gibbs about the GSM thing. He was feeling antsy. He felt angry and full of energy and he didn’t know why.

            First it was Justine at dinner, then the embarrassment, the confrontation in the hall had been awful—and the genuine fear he’d felt when he was stuck in that cell. He hadn’t told Gibbs how worried he was about being sold. After all, he’d been sold like a side of beef before, why not again? Tony reached up and rubbed the wetness away from his eyes.

            God, had he really been whipped for reading a GSM once before? For glancing at it? Something he could once do for hours a day if he chose he now had to ask permission for. Tony sank to the tiled floor as more stupid tears leaked from his eyes. What the fuck had been happening all these years? It was like all that slave shit was happening to someone else. To a different part of him. A part that had accepted the slavery for what it was and just figured that at one point, someday, it would end. That part had grown into something that dominated his personality—his real, goofy, chauvinistic, funny, compassionate, generous soul. It was like two different versions of himself had been occupying this body and now they were meeting for the first time. The slave and the free person were eye to eye, and it was too much. _Way_ too much.

            Tony shut his eyes and let the tears fall. He cried silently into his knees, his body shuddering and the sounds muffled under the gurgle of the water. He fell silent after a knock on the door some time later. He could have been sitting there for hours for all he knew.

            “DiNozzo?” Gibbs sounded scared, and that did nothing to help Tony deal. Not trusting himself to speak, he just sat there frozen, his face in his knees, silently damning the constant flow of shower water for drawing attention to him. “Tony…if you don’t answer I’m coming in.”

            Tony found he didn’t care if Gibbs saw him like this. He had already seen him shirtless and caned, on the grass under another man’s foot, huddled on the floor because of a broken mug, nervous about sitting in a chair. After all that, plain crying was nothing.

             From the corner of his eye, Tony saw the door open. Gibbs’ feet and legs appeared, and there was a pause. Then he crossed the room and turned off the steaming water. Tony just sat there as Gibbs lowered himself to the floor beside him. Tony sensed him reach up, hesitate, then a warm hand carefully stroked his hair. He didn’t say a word, and for that Tony was appreciative.

            He welcomed the feel of Gibbs’ hand on his scalp, gently stroking, thinking he’d never be able to get enough of those kind touches again. He was vaguely aware of the bathroom door opening again, and then someone else in the doorway. There may have been voices. His brain briefly registered the female voice, and then Gibbs shrugging and nodding. Another person entered and settled on his other side, gripping his waist carefully in a hug. He recognized her homemade gunpowder-y perfume and felt the blunt tips of the spiked collar on his arm.

            He was safe. He knew he was. His real self knew that these arms around him would shield him from anything else life threw in his path. His tears abated and he was grateful that neither Gibbs nor Abby pulled away once he stopped crying. Tony smiled softly and took a deep breath. Abby’s grip tightened and Tony cracked open an eye.

            Too bright.

            He shut it again and twisted his face towards Gibbs, comforted by the sawdust-coffee smell. The man hadn’t been near his boat in days but he still managed to keep the sawdust smell. Abby refused to dislodge herself and Tony was fine with that. Gibbs reached forward and grabbed a length of toilet paper. He passed it to Tony who took it gratefully and blew his nose. He sat there a moment, suddenly sleepy. He wasn’t sure who was supposed to break the silence first. Him, he supposed. He balled up the tissue and chucked it into the wastebasket. Swallowing, he slid his eyes to his boss. Gibbs was staring at him intently as if he were a complex mind teaser to be worked out. Tony gave the man a small grin and looked away.

            “I’m okay.” He said.

            Gibbs nodded and Abby squeezed tighter.

            “Good.” Gibbs whispered. He got up, and offered a hand to Tony.

            “Uh, Abbs…?” The girl pulled off of him instantly and took his elbow as Tony reached for Gibbs’ hand. He let himself be led back to the bed where he sat down heavily. “I’m okay.” He assured them. “All those grainy videos are hell on the eyes.” He said, making a lame attempt at dismissing his tears.

            “Sleep.” Gibbs said.

            “What about the footage?”

            “We got it, DiNozzo. Abby found something.”

            “Really?” Tony perked up. “What?”

            “Sleep a couple hours first.” Gibbs said.

            “But Gibbs—”

            “That’s an order, DiNozzo.” Gibbs said in his best ‘boss’ voice.

           Tony sighed. “Yes, boss.”

           Tony lay down and was asleep before they could cover him.

 

* * *

 

            “Jethro, he’ll be alright. Anthony is an incredibly resilient young man.”

            Gibbs, Abby, and Ducky had moved to Abby’s room to give Tony some quiet. Abby had pulled up the file on Daljeet as Gibbs requested, but the computer lay forgotten momentarily as they sat in a circle and discussed the breakdown. Gibbs stared at the floor, unsure as ever now as to how to deal with his fragile subordinate.

            “This was going to happen eventually, Jethro.” Ducky soothed. “Tony is most likely going through some sort of PTSD. He’s having nightmares, he could have memory loss, difficulty concentrating—well, you know the symptoms, my friend.”

            Gibbs grunted.

            “Things that may seem normal to you and I can trigger certain memories for him. Things he may have not even realized he knew. Or things he’d forgotten about.”

            “I had trouble sleeping for a long while after you rescued me. Remember, Gibbs?” Abby said. “I couldn’t sleep anywhere but under your boat for like two months.”

            “Yeah. And you barely ate anything.” Gibbs said.

            “The reasons I think Tony’s traveling down the path of healing faster than most patients is because he has all the things PTSD patients need: a supportive group, a companion who endured something similar as he did.” Ducky gestured to Abby, “people willing to be patient with him.”

            Abby handed him the laptop and Gibbs spent the next half hour poring over Daljeet’s file and biography. Born in Bombay, came over to the US with the invasion of China, worked for Ching-Lan and then he was killed this past January. Nothing extraordinary, nothing to cause suspicion. Gibbs found himself glancing at the clock every ten minutes. He couldn’t concentrate on this. He was in no state of mind to look over case details, not when he was this worried about Tony. He placed the laptop on the coffee table with a clatter and rubbed his eyes.

            “You okay, Gibbs?” Abby said.

            “No. I’m gonna go out—I’ll be back.” Gibbs got up and stalked from the room, slamming the door behind.

            “Ducky,” Abby said after a beat. “I’m worried about them both.”

            The M.E pulled her into a hug. “They’ll both be alright, Abby. There is the old adage, time heals all.”

            Abby sniffed and pulled off of him, nodding.

            “Yeah I know. I just want that healing time to be now.”

 


	14. On the Trail

 

            Gibbs stormed out of the hotel. He wanted his boat and his bourbon. He wanted to lose himself in something hard and physical. He wanted to drown these feelings…damn he felt like the world’s worst person. He should never have sent Tony to get that interview, then he never would have gone to the cell.

            Gibbs glanced around, aware that he was on some sort of trail in the woods. The lodge was still visible through the green pine trees, and the sounds of people golfing could be heard further off. Gibbs kept walking.

He kept forgetting that Tony couldn’t wander around the way Abby could. Not yet anyway. Not for another year and, what? Five months? It was his fault that Tony had been stopped and yelled at. It was because of him that Tony was put in jail and had to suffer that embarrassment.

            He slammed his fist into a tree trunk. The pain flared in his knuckles, drowning the guilt he felt. He did it again. Only when his fists were pleasantly bloodied did he stop and take a deep breath.

            Birds chirped. Crickets warbled. The wind rustled the leaves in the trees gently.

            Gibbs turned back. He had an apology to make.

 

* * *

 

            Twenty minutes later, Gibbs slid his keycard into the slot above the doorknob to the room he and Tony shared. The little light flashed green and the lock clicked. Gibbs pushed the door open. The curtains were still drawn and the sunlight struggled to peek into the silent room. Gibbs stepped forward quietly and saw Tony still sound asleep. He went to the head and took care of his knuckles. Ducky would have something to say about that, but Gibbs didn’t care. He patted a towel over the bruised skin and flipped the light off on his way out. He glanced at his watch. It had been about three hours.

            “Tony.” Gibbs leaned over and shook the younger man. “DiNozzo, get up.”

            Tony grunted and stirred, opening his eyes blearily. “Hey…boss…”

            “Didn’t want you to sleep too long.” Gibbs pulled away and slid the curtains open. Tony yawned and sat up, rubbing the spot on his neck where his collar had imprinted his skin. Gibbs sat on his own bed, staring carefully at Tony.

            “You okay?”

            “Yeah.” Tony stretched and got up. “I am, boss.”

            “Good. I owe you an apology.”

            “What?” Tony looked up at him dumbly.

            “I shouldn’t have sent you off to find the surveillance room by yourself. I forgot you didn’t have the green tag and I wasn’t thinking. I was distracted by what Consuelo said in the interview and I just wanted to get the information from Homer as fast as possible. I’m sorry, Tony. I wasn’t thinking about your welfare.”

            Tony opened his mouth, then closed it. Then he took a deep breath and reached up to scratch his ear.

            “I accept, boss. I’m not pissed at you. I think…I’m finally gonna be okay. That little collapse in the bathroom really put things in perspective for me. It was almost like I finally saw everything that I had been dealing with…ever since I became a slave…”

            “Good.” Gibbs said.

            “And I’m sure Ducky would have some huge explanation for what I’m going through and what it means.” He said with a laugh.

            “He said it’s something similar to PTSD.”

            “Really? Huh. Yeah. I guess. Being a slave is trauma. And now this is post-trauma. Though, I’m _still_ a slave.”

            “The best I can do,” Gibbs said, “is treat you as normal as possible and try to keep you and Abby safe from these bone-headed laws.”

            Tony nodded quickly. “I appreciate that boss. I don’t think I ever said a proper thank-you for rescuing me.” Tony looked up at him and grinned. “Thanks for getting me away from Bronislav.”

            “Your welcome, DiNozzo. Don’t go getting all mushy on me, now.”

            Tony let out a guffaw. “Too late, boss,” he said, remembering, with a good dose of embarrassment, crying in the bathroom. “Too damn late.”

            “You ready to finally do some work?” Gibbs told him what Abby saw on the DVD. They returned to Abby’s room, where Tony was immediately clutched into a patented Abby-hug.

            “How are you, my boy?” Ducky asked.

            “Fine, Ducky. I’ll be fine.”

            Tony watched the video while Gibbs read the computer profiles.

            “So there was a third guy we didn’t know about until now.” Tony said.

            “Yep.”

            “I sure wish we were back at the office.” Tony said. “We prolly coulda caught this guy sooner if half the team wasn’t a slave.”

            “You wanna tell that to Ching-Lan?” Gibbs said dryly.

            “Not really, boss. Anything in those profiles?”

            “Still looking.”

            Tony got up and moved behind his boss, staring at the screen from over his shoulder.

            “Here.” Gibbs grunted. He thrust the laptop into Tony’s arms. “My eyes are about to fall out of my head.”

            Tony sank into the desk chair and scrolled through Daljeet’s biography. He paused when he came to a photo. It was of Daljeet in a suit, surrounded by several other well-dressed Indian men. They seemed to be at some sort of dinner or banquet. Squinting, Tony zoomed in on the photo and frowned.

            “I think this is the same guy.” Tony said.

            “What?” Gibbs came back around and looked at the picture on the screen. “This guy.” Tony said, pointing at one man. “Isn’t that the third guy from the tape?”

            Gibbs looked at the fuzzy picture. “Might be. Abbs—.”

            “Already on it.” Abby took the computer from Tony and dragged up the facial recognizing software from the depths of the internet. Her fingers tapped over the board for a few moments and she sat back, watching it intently.

            “It’s thinking.” She informed them. Suddenly it beeped. She leaned forward and looked over the images. “That’s the same guy alright.”

            They exchanged looks with each other and Tony smiled.

            “I think it’s time to call Ching-Lan.” Gibbs said.

 

* * *

 

            _“Mr. Gibbs.”_ Ching-Lan’s voice echoed from the speakers on the laptop. After a quick phone call, she had insisted on setting up a videoconference so they ‘could speak properly.’ The dragon lady herself was on a couch and Gibbs didn’t recognize the background room. One of the many in the White House, no doubt. 

            “Ching-Lan. Have you been well?”

            _“Yes. Busy as usual, but well enough. Do you have more information?”_

            “A question, actually.”

            Abby leaned across the keys and tapped.                 

            “Do you know who this man is?” The picture of the third person in the video came up and Gibbs watched Ching-Lan scrutinize it.

_“Hm…that is Vajra Naravira. He is a member of the Bombay mafia.”_

            Gibbs blinked. “The mafia?”

_“Yes. I remember—his second cousin is Rakeesh Naravira. The head of the mafia.”_

            “Ah. Do they have any grudges against you?”

            Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

            “I’m only asking because Vajra may be linked to your sister.”

            Ching-Lan looked down at her hands when he mentioned Mei-Lien, and as much as he disliked her, Gibbs felt a pang of sympathy. He knew what it was like to lose family. _“I have many enemies, Gibbs.”_ She said quietly. _“If these filthy Indian dogs are behind this, I want to know everything.”_

            Yeah, Gibbs thought dryly, and send the entire Indian mob after them if there turned out to be a connection.

            _“You will be kept safe.”_ She promised. It was like she read his mind. _“Do what you need to, Mr. Gibbs.”_

            Gibbs promised he would and they broke the connection.

            “Mafia, huh.” Tony said. He clattered at the keyboard, bringing up Rakeesh Naravira’s file. “Hmm…”

            Abby crowded behind him, reading. “Uh-oh.” She said.

            “What ‘uh-oh’?” Gibbs growled.

            “‘Ol Rakeesh is involved in the slave trade too. Though he trafficks kids.” Tony added quietly. “Daljeet probably sold them Mei-Lien for money.”

            “Oh that poor girl.” Ducky said.

            “Wait--but what about Lewis?” Abby said, looking horrified at the prospect of a child sold into slavery.

            “For all we know, she’s dead too.” Tony answered.

            “But we don’t know that.” Gibbs said.

            “Daljeet and Lewis and Mei-Lien checked in here on Januray sixth.” Tony got up and started pacing.

            “Daljeet’s body was found on the eleventh in Arlington. Consuelo said that Lewis and Daljeet argued about money on the eighth, three days before the body turned up. Now we find a third person in the surveillance video who clearly knew Daljeet—linking him to the mafia—and no one’s heard from Lewis or Mei-Lien since.”

            “Yeah, but “argued about money” sounds pretty vague.” Abby countered. “It could have been a room service bill for all we know.”

            “But with the mafia connection, it strengthens the theory that Daljeet was threatening someone or something. It makes sense that it was Lewis. Lewis wanted to protect Mei-Lien, and Daljeet wanted the money.”

            They all fell quiet, thinking about Tony’s theory.

            “Maybe.” Abby said.

            “Boss? What do you think?” Tony adjusted his collar and crossed his arms, looking intently his master.

            “My gut says something doesn’t fit.” Gibbs said finally. He went over to the hotel phone on the desk and punched the button for the concierge. He tersely asked for the manager. Tony and Abby exchanged frowns.

            “Is Maria Consuelo working today? Gibbs asked. “She is? We need to speak to her—good.” Gibbs hung up and moved for the door, grabbing Tony’s leash from the table. “Come on, DiNozzo.”

            Tony hurried after.

            “We’ll keep looking at the files!” Abby called. “See if we can find anything about where Rakeesh may have sent her.”

            “Good idea, Abbs.” Gibbs replied, slamming the door behind them.

* * *

 

            Gibbs knocked on the manager’s office door. There was no response. Gibbs glanced up and down the hall, letting out an annoyed breath.

            “What’s up, boss?” Tony said.

            “Something doesn’t fit.” Gibbs muttered. The door was pulled open a moment later.

            “Mr. Gibbs—.” He frowned when he saw Tony. “You took care of your slave, then?”

            “Yes. He was punished severely.” Gibbs deadpanned. Tony nodded in agreement. “I need to talk to Maria Consuelo.”

            “I’ve already radioed her, she’s on her way. I trust this won’t take long?”

            “Shouldn’t.” Gibbs said.

            The man nodded. “I’ll give you some privacy then.” He ducked out of the office just as Consuelo came into view. She paused when she saw Gibbs and Tony. A flash of worry spiked in her brown eyes.

            “Tony.” Gibbs snipped. Tony rattled off some things in Spanish, assuring her that wasn’t in trouble—just the opposite in fact, and she calmed down. They all sat at the conference table and Tony paused.

            “Uh, boss, what do you want me to say?”

            “Ask if she remembers anything else about Daljeet and Lewis.” He said impatiently. “Ask about Vajra Naravira.”

            Tony rattled off some sentences and Gibbs sat back, watching the exchange. Tony said something, then she nodded, then he paused and repeated it. She nodded again. They talked for a little while longer and Tony sat back.

            “She says Lewis and Mei-Lien were still here after Daljeet ‘checked out.’” Tony said.

            “They didn’t all leave the hotel together?” Gibbs said bluntly.

            “Nope. Lewis and Mei-Lien were still here after the eleventh, when Daljeet’s body was found. _Then_ they booked out.”

            “Did Vajra leave with them?”

            Tony repeated the question.

            She shook her head and replied.

            “She doesn’t know when he checked out. She doesn’t remember very much about Vajra.”

            “Does she know if he was involved in the argument about the money?”

            Tony asked her, and she shook her head.

            “It had to have been Lewis.” Gibbs hissed. “She wanted to ransom Mei-Lien to Rakeesh Naravira for his trafficking. By using the Indian mafia, Lewis was able to make it seem like Daljeet was behind it all. No one would suspect the nanny of selling her charge.” Gibbs slammed his palm on the table, making Consuelo jump.

            Gibbs stood up and paced, stalking back and forth across the room like a panther.

            “Okay.” He said finally. “We’re done here for now.”

            Tony thanked Consuelo graciously and escorted her from the room. He let out a small yelp when the leash tugged his throat as Gibbs strode down the hallway.

            “Keep up!” He called. Tony rolled his eyes at the pleased urgency in his boss’s voice. Gibbs was like a kid in a candy store…or a grown ex-marine in a boat store. It had been ages since they had a case and since Gibbs and the whole team could sniff out a bad guy like they used to. Back when NCIS actually existed. Tony felt a pang of sadness as they turned into the main lobby. He may never get to be an official federal agent again or sit at a desk, but this was really the next best thing.

            They came back into the semi-crowded lobby. Gibbs stopped suddenly and Tony almost careened into him. “Whoa, boss—.”

            Gibbs caught his arm to balance him.

            “Why are we…?” Tony gulped at the sight at the front desk. It was Justine Bergman. She was checking out. Three muscle-bound male slaves each held a piece of her luggage silently as she berated the desk clerk.

            “Come on.” Gibbs instructed. He gave Tony a quick grin before schooling his face into a pissed-off mask. He walked briskly up behind the woman. Tony followed at as much of a distance as his leash would allow. He didn’t want to get too close. Gibbs tapped the woman’s shoulder harder than was necessary.

            “What!—Oh, it’s you and your law-breaking slave.” She snarled. “Reconsidering my offer or what?” She looked over Gibbs’ shoulder to get an eyeful of Tony. Gibbs reached out and caught her arm, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Hey!” She yelled. “Get off me—” Gibbs squeezed, shutting her up, and pulled her away from the desk.

            “This woman,” he announced in a good loud voice, “broke the law.” He glanced around, pleased that everyone in the room was now looking at them. Justine tried to break away from his grip, but Gibbs simply tightened it. “She tried to steal my collared slave.” Murmurs of disapproval rippled around the room. Gibbs continued. “A slave I told her I had no interest in selling—a man who is working to find a little girl who’s life may be in danger.”

            Tony smiled as the murmurings increased. _Go boss, go!_

            “A man who was hand-picked by his laoban to aid the search for this little girl.”

            _That’s stretching it a bit boss, but still! Way to go!_ Tony crossed his arms, giving Justine a smug smile. She tried to wrench out of Gibbs’ grip again and he growled at her. She stopped moving.

            “I suggest,” Gibbs said, glancing around the room, “that if you care at all about your slaves, you won’t have anything to do with Justine Bergman.”

            Finally Gibbs let her go. She gave him an acidic glare as people in the lobby broke into applause. Tony noted that her slave boys had made no move to get Gibbs away from her. Gibbs turned away from the crowd. He stepped into Justine’s space, pinning her against the counter, and began speaking in a dangerously low voice.  

            “I don’t know who you are. I don’t know where you came from. But if you and I ever cross paths again and if you _ever_ give one of _my_ people a hard time…I will make your life hell. You’ll wish you had never seen Tony.”

            “Who?” She muttered, looking like she wanted to cry.

            “My friend whom you tried to hurt.” Gibbs said. “Understand?”

            The look in her eyes told him they would never have trouble with her again. That was good enough for Gibbs. The corners of Gibbs’ mouth quirked as she angrily turned around to continue hollering at the desk clerk, even though by now her argument was totally deflated. As he began walking back towards the elevator, Tony caught the eye of the slave who’d held his arms behind his back at the pool just hours ago. His nose was a little bruised. They exchanged a silent nod of acknowledgement, all bad feelings aside, and Tony hurried after his boss before the leash could tug.

            “Boss.” He said, awestruck and deliriously happy, “that was—”

            “Don’t mention it, DiNozzo.”

 

* * *

 

            “Abbs.” Gibbs knocked hard and the door was thrown open instantly. “Look at Lewis’ file. Background and history.” Abby ran to the computer and typed a moment. They all crowded around the screen as Lewis’ photo and file popped up.

            “Okay.” Abby said, reading. “Lewis came to the resort in January, blah, blah, blah…born and raised in the Midwest. She has family in what was formerly known as Chicago. Blue-collar family. Father was a truck driver for the stockyards, mother worked part-time at the old Marshall Field’s—which as we know was one of the earliest chain stores to be destroyed by China who have and always will hate gluttonous American wealth—.”

            “Abbs.” Gibbs said patiently.

            “Um, nothing to really link her with the Indian mafia, Gibbs.”

            “Dig around in her past—look for any connection to that kidnapping. I know she did it, we just have to prove it now. Tony, help her. Ducky and I are getting coffee.”

            Abby opened her mouth to inform Gibbs that Tony wasn’t much of a help for computer issues, but the slamming of the door as the two men left cut her off.

            “You get any better at computer hacking since the invasion?” She asked.

            “Nope.” Tony sighed. “Haven’t used a computer very much since I became a slave.”

            “Then stay out of my way.” Abby said, fingers flying over the keyboard.

              Abby sat at the desk for the next couple hours or so, hacking and knocking on firewalls.  Gibbs and Ducky had come back with coffee for all of them, and room service was keeping the pots topped up.

            “Abbs,” Tony groaned impatiently. He was sprawled on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Anything yet?”

            “Not really. It’s weird. It’s like after staying at the resort, Lewis just dropped off the face of the earth. The last record Ching-Lan has of her is when she came here with little sister and Daljeet”

            Tony looked up. “Little sister?”

            “In Chinese, mei-mei means little sister. Mei-Lien, mei-mei…I don’t know.”

            She heard him mumble something that sounded a lot like “Chinatown.”

            “Tony, no Jack Nicholson impressions.”

            “Abby.” Gibbs said suddenly. “You got something.”

            “What?” Abby frowned at her screen. “No I don’t—.”

            At that moment, the computer beeped frantically.

            “You haven’t lost it!” Abby cried. “And it’s been five years! Amazing!”

            “What?” Gibbs looked at her like she was nuts.

            “Your dark magic. Every time I have something, you just,” she waved her hands in the air, “know. It’s like telepathy or something, Gibbs.”

            “So you have something?” Gibbs sipped his coffee, looking very unconcerned about his dark magic.

            “I think so. Look.” Abby twisted the laptop around so the others could see. “Annabelle Lewis is a tough girl to find. I looked up her old addresses, phone records. I tried to get a credit card history but the firewalls have gotten really, really good. Anyway, I _did_ find that Ms. Lewis’ relatively blue-collar life isn’t so blue anymore.”

            She clicked and several pictures of fancy cars and big houses appeared on the screen.    

            “See this mansion?”

            Abby pointed at the screen.

            “It’s hers. She lives part-time in Lake Forest—it’s an expensive ‘burb north of Chi-town. She also owns a condo in this,”

            Abby flicked the mouse and a black skyscraper overlooking Lake Michigan appeared.

            “And this little number in Puerto Rico.”

            A bungalow surrounded by palm trees and sand popped up.

            “Along with these cars. Lewis came into _a lot_ of cash recently. And funny, Mei-Lien is nowhere to be found. But this, _this_ , you’re gonna love.” Abby pulled the computer away from her audience and clattered over the keys. She flipped the laptop around again when the photo of a woman and several handsome Indian men appeared.

            “That’s Lewis.” Abby said. “Plus a boob-job and I don’t know how much in make-up. And that,” she pointed at the man closest to her,

            “Vajra Naravira.” Gibbs growled.

            “And what looks like most of his family.” Ducky noticed.

            “Find this guy, and we find Mei-Lien.” Tony murmured. He slid his eyes to Gibbs. “We going after this guy, boss?”

            Gibbs stared at the picture for a long while, then pulled away.

            “Let’s give Ching-Lan another call.”

            Gibbs didn’t bother with the cell this time. He had Abby dial her through the computer, and the video was up and running in a matter of minutes. Ching-Lan looked harried. Her ever-immaculate black hair was hanging down her face in stringy strands and her red nail polish was chipped. Dark bags hung under her tear stained eyes.

            _“Mr. Gibbs.”_ She said in a thick voice. _“News?”_

            “It was Lewis.” Gibbs growled. Ching-Lan looked surprised for a moment, then her eyes darkened into an anger that made Tony and Abby gulp.

 _“You’re sure?”_ She hissed. Abby leaned over the keys and brought up the photo of Lewis with Naravira.

            Ching-Lan stared at the photo, breathing hard. Suddenly she shoved the computer away and yelled something in Chinese that sounded very unpleasant for Lewis’ future. Several concerned slaves ran into the room, but Ching-Lan shoved them away.

            _“Thank you, Mr. Gibbs.”_ She said into the camera. _“And you, Doctor. And,”_ she sighed, _“Abby and Tony. I will take it from here.”_

            “Wait! Are we staying with Gibbs?” Tony leaned into the camera. Abby bit her lip anxiously.

            Ching-Lan paused. _“As long as he will have you.”_ She mumbled.

            “You’re welcome, Ching-Lan.” Gibbs said sincerely, putting a hand on Tony’s shoulder, pulling him back. The Chinese woman nodded and killed the connection.

            “Tony! Yay!” Abby leaped into his arms and he spun her around. “You’re staying with us totally legitly permanent forever now!”

            “I do hope the little girl is alright.” Ducky said.

            “Hopefully she’s better than Lewis is going to be.” Tony said with an awkward laugh.

            “Gibbs, what’s Ching-Lan going to do to Lewis?” Abby asked.

            “I don’t want to know.” Gibbs took another swig from his coffee. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”


	15. Epilogue

            “Home! Glorious home!” Tony yelled upon entering Gibbs’ house late the next day. He dropped his bag by the door and took a deep breath of the musty air.

            The rest of the team piled in after him. Everyone dropped their bags on the ground, sighing at the familiar sights and smells.

            “We’ll need to go to the store, I’m sure…” Ducky mumbled, heading for the kitchen. “Some of the food has probably turned by now.” Abby took her stuff and ran up the stairs, claiming she wanted to get unpacking done with as soon as possible because she hated it. Tony followed, bursting into his room. He paused and dropped his bag on the floor next to his bed. His bed. Not a cellar floor. His own bed. He looked at his NCIS duffel in the corner, still filled with his old clothes. He hadn’t even unpacked it all yet. He hadn’t believed for a moment that he would be staying with Gibbs permanently. He smiled softly and reached for it.

            He didn’t know why he was treating it like it was the holy grail or something. It was just a bag. He zipped it open and took out the clothes, adding them to the pile for laundry. He winced at the items peeking out from the bottom. The golden badge, the leather holster. He picked up the framed photo and looked at it. He could get as happy as the guy in photo again. He may have doubted it before, but he was sure now. Giving the wooden frame a squeeze, he padded down the stairs to the kitchen and saw Gibbs standing beside the bubbling coffee-maker, waiting for it to do its thing.

            “Ching-Lan called.” Gibbs said.

            “Oh?” Tony clutched the picture anxiously, really hoping she hadn’t changed her mind.

            “She found Lewis.”

            “And Mei-Lien?” Tony asked in a hushed voice.

            “Her too.” Gibbs looked up at him. “She’s safe. Lewis, probably not so safe. Ching-Lan said something about sending her to the mines.”

            “That’s gonna put a cramp in her high-style living.” Tony said.

            “Ya think?” Gibbs glanced down at what Tony was holding. “What’s that?”

            “Oh. Abby…uh, this was in my apartment before.” He held the picture out to Gibbs. The man took it slowly and his face instantly tightened with emotion. “I was thinking maybe we could put it somewhere down here. Where we can all see it?” Tony said. Gibbs blinked a few times and nodded, handing it wordlessly back over. Tony went the living room off the kitchen where they all often spent time watching TV or just hanging out on evenings. He glanced around, spotting an empty space on the end table. He set it down, facing the room. It looked good, he thought. It made everything just a little more warm and cozy, like a family’s home should be.

                                    The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


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